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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263270">I'll be the one (if you want me to)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie4628/pseuds/Sophie4628'>Sophie4628</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elite (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Carmuel prompt fills, F/M, chapters are rated individually</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:33:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263270</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie4628/pseuds/Sophie4628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Which one memory will you remember forever about your time here?</p><p>Fucking seriously? Who on earth decided that this was a good question? The answer is simple: someone who hasn’t been caught up in the traumatizing murder drama going on in her class. But Carla still thinks that whoever’s sitting in the yearbook committee could’ve been a bit more decent.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carla Rosón Caleruega/Samuel García Domínguez, Carmuel - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Into the woods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is taken from "Say something" by A Great Big World</p><p>This plays in the KMTIS-universe and is a snippet of their road trip :) I really wanted to write more about it, so it played in my cards that the first prompt I got actually fits so well, thank you @fairygray! :)</p><p>Prompt fill 1: “I’d rather live in the woods with you than in a mansion with someone I barely know.”</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She probably shouldn’t say anything. That’s what Carla thinks when she spots the wooden signpost that’s gotten all too familiar to them in the last one and a half hours. Yet she can’t hold her tongue. “Please don’t tell me we walked in a circle again,” she huffs, shoulders sacking with annoyance and the weight of her backpack.</p><p>Samuel stares at the sign, then back at the crumpled piece of paper in his hands. “This literally doesn’t make sense…” He scratches his head. His hair is damp with sweat, making it even curlier than usual. They’re hiking for four hours now, and yet their destination – a viewpoint that’s allowing a grand sight over the Vienna alps – is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>“Let me have a look.” Carla walks towards him, but he immediately snatches the map away from her reach.</p><p>“No no no wait, I think I got it. We…,” Samuel squeezes his eyes, partly against the bright sunlight and partly to read the letters that already fade on the worn-out and obviously low-quality map they purchased in a tourist shop earlier, “…we must keep left on the second junction, not right. Sorry, I must’ve lost count.”</p><p>Carla chooses to not point out the fact he lost count on the number of <em>two </em>and just leaves it with an amused headshake. Because it kind of <em>is </em>amusing how he looses track of their route every few hundred meters, getting lost in thoughts as he admires trees (they all look the same?), squints his eyes at rare birds he claims to spot (it were sparrows in the end) or peaks over at her (okay, that’s a fair point – the sports bra underneath her shirt does a really good job).</p><p>“Samuel, focus,” she interrupts him when she feels him zone out again. He nods, determined, and keeps his gaze on the small earthy path. She doesn’t want to come off tense or anything – she admires the nature around them just as much as him – but she also doesn’t want to get lost in the middle of Austrian woods.</p><p>And then she spots a constellation of small white flowers and a stick she’s sure to have seen before, looks up and –</p><p>“Fucking shit!”</p><p>She stares at Samuel, pink lips slightly agape at the way he crumples the map and throws it onto the ground. He <em>can </em>be a little hothead sometimes. She withholds a comment about how she told him right from the beginning that they should just use her hiking app instead of a map, and walks over to where he slumped down the trunk of a tree.</p><p>“Are you seriously in a huff now?” She kneels down beside him.</p><p>“I just wanted to do something nice and <em>nothing</em> works,” he grits through his teeth, arms crossed over his chest. “Just because Austrians apparently don’t know how to mark a hiking trail.”</p><p>“Oh, so its<em> their</em> fault now?”</p><p>He nods broodily. Carla sighs and sits down beside him, not caring about the small sticks and leaves pressing into her butt. “Look at me." She softly turns his chin with her index finger. “Everything is fine, okay? Just because we were walking in a circle for two hours doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time. Don’t people always say &gt;The path is the true destination&lt;?”</p><p>He fights the urge to smile, the right corner of his mouth twitching microscopically.</p><p>“It’s pretty nice here, isn’t it?” Carla looks around. “What about we collect some wood and build a lodge?”</p><p>She feels him draw back, apparently thinking that she’s making fun of him. But she knows just what to say to make him smile again. Samuel is more than predictable, and if anything makes him happy, it’s some kind of cheesy love declaration.</p><p>“I mean I’d still rather live in the woods with you than in a mansion with someone I barely know.”</p><p>And just like that, big brown eyes disappear behind thick lashes and he’s smiling again. Now, a sweet kiss on the cheek and <em>voilà, </em>her job is done.</p><p>“That was cheesy,” he chuckles, taking her hand as she helps him to get up.</p><p>“Coming from you of all people.”</p><p>In the end they reach their destination in teamwork (well, maaaybe Carla had used her phone to navigate behind his back…) and the viewpoint turned out to be only ten minutes away from where Samuel had his little breakdown.</p><p>“Wow.” Carla shields her eyes, taking in the view. Sap green, lush forests stretch over the hills beneath their feet like a thick blanket, contrasting the baby-blue afternoon sky. They stand there just for a minute, enjoying the silence and inhaling the pure mountain air.</p><p>“Is that an eagle?” Samuel disrupts the peaceful moment. “It is! Right there, look.”</p><p>Carla follows his hand with her gaze. There is…a tiny black dot in the sky. “Could also be a pigeon.”</p><p>“You really have no sense for nature, do you know that?”</p><p>She rolls her eyes as they sit down at one of the picnic tables and unpack their bags, filled with various snacks and drinks. “<em>I </em>have no sense for nature? Excuse me, <em>who </em>exactly acted up as we tried to get a selfie with a horse yesterday?”</p><p>Yesterday had been Carla’s day. A city trip through pretentious but beautiful Vienna, including a visit in the famous Spanish Riding School – which Samuel wasn’t too keen on. First, she thought he just wasn’t interested in the graceful white horses or the amazing Renaissance architecture, but turns out he was just <em>really </em>scared of the big animals. He nearly screamed when one gently nudged his shoulder over a fence, and Carla swore to herself to never let this go again.</p><p>“Very funny.” Samuel chews on a cereal bar. “Maybe we <em>do</em> should build a lodge so I can leave you here.”</p><p>For that, he earns himself a slap on his shoulder. The kiss that follows is something he surely doesn’t earn – but he receives it anyway. Spoiled idiot.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Back in time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I decided to play around a bit and try my hand on a historical AU set somewhere in the late 18th century. I’m sorry for any historical inaccuracies, hope you like it anyway. Thanks for the prompt suggestion @lizabogma, I had much fun writing this :)</p><p>Prompt fill 2: “I’ve been in love with you since we were children.”</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saturday is her favorite day since Carla can think. Because Saturday means spending her day in the colorful hustle and bustle of Madrid’s finest shopping streets rather than listening to her strict teacher in the privacy of her parents’ estate. Saturday means strolling between market stalls full of exotic fruits or extravagant accessories, it means being spoiled with new dresses or shoes, and when she is lucky, it even means stopping for a sweet delicacy in one of the various fancy cafés.</p><p>It also means meeting her best friend Marina, and that again means sneaking away from their parents every now and then, escaping their boring adult chats for the favor of tasting a hint of freedom. Because while their noble status offered them every material thing a ten-year-old girl could wish for, <em>freedom </em>is one thing that’s never been offered to them.</p><p><em>Noblesse oblige </em>is the maxim the girls learned from early age on – meaning there comes responsibility with their privileges. They are expected to be well behaved and polite, to fulfill their roles as children of aristocrats without rebellion. Their lives are predestined. When they grow up, they’ll follow the footsteps of their parents, carry on their traditions and pass the age-old values to their own children someday. At least that’s what expected of them. Marina, however, seems to have incorporated the revolutionary spirit that’s currently roaming their neighbor country pretty well. Not like she understands what is happening in France – she simply seems to be born with a natural tendency to rebel against any rule she is confronted with.</p><p>Carla shows more restraint when it comes to fighting against the spark of wilderness that’s glowing inside her chest. The mostly quiet girl is always careful of being watched by her parents. But on this Saturday, the adults are especially careless, occupied with lighthearted chatter that suits the gentle spring breeze surrounding their high worn noses, and so Carla tags along with her friend, equally careless.</p><p>They giggle and squeal as they push through the mass of luscious skirts and tailored suits, their pastel-colored dresses floating in the wind, until the ground beneath their feet gets dirtier and the people around them look less and less distinguished and elegant. They finally come to halt at the last market stand.</p><p>Carla looks at her friend, insecurity welling up in her emerald green eyes. A carriage passes their way slowly, the bony mule in front of it groaning with every step as it drags a heavy mountain of flour sacks behind him. And then Marina’s hand closes around Carla’s in determination, and she begins to drag the blonde down the street full of haggard figures with empty faces and cheroot teeth, some barely able to walk as they cling to crooked walking sticks, others covered in red patches due to the Syphilis epidemic that’s blazing within the poorer classes.</p><p>They have no other aim than to explore the world outside of their sheltered bubble as they walk through the street. But people notice them not manly for their aimlessness, more for the obvious fact that girls dressed and trimmed like them don’t belong there. No one cares enough about it to say anything, however. No one until –</p><p>“Get away from here.” Suddenly, a boy stands in their way, covered in beige racks. His brown hair is messy and looks like it haven’t been combed in a long time, his face covered is in grey dust. But even the matte layer on his skin can’t quite erase the spark in his big brown eyes. It’s the first pair of eyes Carla finds here that isn’t dull and dead.</p><p>“And why should we?” Marina gives him a challenging look. <em>Why </em>has always been her favorite word.</p><p>He comes closer and lowers his voice. “Because it is dangerous for you to be here. I assure you it will be better if you leave.”</p><p>The nervous flutter in his voice causes a queasy feeling to arise in Carla’s stomach. She looks over at the red-haired girl, small pale hand clutching around her friend’s even tighter now. But Marina looks unimpressed. Provoked, even.</p><p>“I admire your concern, but we are not in need of someone who protects us.”</p><p>They stand like this for a moment, and then the boy’s dark eyes flicker to something behind the girls. He takes a step back, then two. Whatever it might be is obviously intimidating him. Carla registers his reaction sooner than Marina, but even then, she isn’t quick enough to turn around and spot the source of attention before feeling a sharp grip around her shoulder.</p><p>“Have you taken leave of your senses?!” Carla’s father is fuming with anger. “Have I not spoken clearly enough when I told you to never go to <em>this</em> part of town? Full of cripples, maniacs and gypsies.” His words are dripping with disgust. “And now come!”</p><p>The way he drags them back to their families is anything but pleasant, his hands wrapped around either of the girls’ skinny arms painfully tight. Both rub their irritated skin as soon as he lets go again, small faces frowning with guilt and hurt, hot tears brimming in their eyes.</p><p>From now on, Saturdays are everything but a chance to taste freedom. Every one of the girls’ steps are carefully watched, and their radius of movement never exceed more than three meters from wherever their families are lingering. While Marina tries to argue about the new rule, Carla obeys without further question. Too unpleasant were the memories of punishment that followed the incident, too big the fear to provoke her parents again.</p><p>--</p><p>One year passes, yet their weekly trips to the local market remain the same. They meander through the market stalls with routine, greet the salesmen with polite smiles and answer any question of their parent’s friends or business partners with well-behaved duty. They know most of the people by now, the same faces showing up every week over and over again. When she was younger, Carla always believed that Saturdays were something special, but by now she had realized that the seemingly relaxed get together is as stuck-up and scheduled as her daily life. Nothing unexpected ever happens. Not until this day, at least.</p><p>“Stop them!” One of the salesmen suddenly shouts, erupting a turmoil within the crowd.</p><p>Before Carla can grasp the hectic situation, she is pushed aside by a boy that’s about a head bigger and a few years older than her. He goes fast, arms full with bread and cheese and a big piece of dried ham, and behind him rushes another boy, his small arms carrying various foods as well. Carla immediately recognizes the tousled hair and glimpse of hazel eyes she’s able to catch.</p><p>Everything happens very fast, and suddenly someone shouts back. “I got him!”</p><p>When the girl finally regains her orientation in between the mass of tall figures around her, she realizes its Marina’s father who caught him. Everyone focuses on the two now, and the boy immediately drops the stolen goods in shock, frantically searching for his companion, who apparently made his way out of the crowd without getting caught.</p><p>“It is nowhere safe anymore nowadays,” Carla’s mother complains when they’re walking to their carriage an hour later. Her husband and the befriended pair nods in agreement, as well as Marina’s older brother who always acts way too grown-up for the fact he’s only twelve. “It would be for the best to put a fence around this disgusting quarter so that these savages will stay among themselves.”</p><p>Carla feels herself zone out as her mother goes on ranting, her eyes falling onto a familiar figure sitting across the road. She looks up at her and Marina’s parents, making sure none of them pay attention to her in their heated talking, and then she slips away from them, quickly and quiet as a mouse. She walks around the carriage with fast-paced steps, the white bowtie in her blonde locks fluttering as she crosses the busy road.</p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>The boy doesn’t move, his back pressed to a house wall as he sits there with his arms wrapped around his knees, head resting on them.</p><p>She taps his shoulder three times, then tries again, a little louder this time. “Hello!”</p><p>His shoulders twitch in surprise and he looks up at her with wide eyes. He doesn’t say anything though, just stares and stares until Carla takes the pity to say something. “Are you alright?” She can’t help but stare at the black eye he has, probably caused by the salesmen whom Marina’s father had handed him to.</p><p>He sniffs, then shrugs. It is only then that Carla realizes that he’s crying. “Is there anything I could do for you?” she asks, unsure of what to do. She doesn’t quite know with what kind of intention she approached him, only thing she does know is that she feels bad for him. And that it is the fault of her folks that he sits here now, alone and crying.</p><p>“I am afraid you can’t help me,” he says, his lower lip trembling. “Or do you have something to eat? Or to drink?”</p><p>A sharp pang of pity shoots through her guts. And to make it worse, she in fact doesn’t have something to eat or to drink with her. She looks down at herself and stretches her arms a little as if to show that she has absolutely nothing except for the light blue dress she’s wearing, “I do not, unfortunately.”</p><p>He nods and tries to force a smile, then breathes a <em>thank you anyway. </em></p><p>It makes her heart clench even more, and suddenly she has an idea. She turns around to find her parents still in a conversation in front of their carriage, gesticulating wildly and obviously not missing her yet. “Come with me,” she tugs on the hem of his sleeve. The boy stands up with a confused look, but he doesn’t object when she leads him around a corner and into a small alley.</p><p> “This is pure gold. Twenty-four karat.” She holds the thin golden necklace up, the ring on its end swinging in front of the boy’s face. “And that,” she takes the ring between her fingers, showing him the sparkling green gem in the middle, “is a Brazilian emerald.”</p><p>He looks at her with a frown. “It is…very pretty.”</p><p>“And of very high value,” she reminds him. “It should last for several months.”</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>Carla must fight real hard not to groan. “I have to leave now. Here.” She places the piece of jewelry around his neck. “You need to sell it, hear me? And then buy yourself something to eat and drink, new clothes, a haircut. Have you understood me?”</p><p>He swallows heavily, then nods. Despite that, Carla isn’t sure the boy fully grasped the situation yet. She wants to shake him. “Tell me your name.”</p><p>“Sa- Samuel,” he stutters, one hand wrapped around the ring in front of his chest now.</p><p>“Samuel,” she repeats, eyes flickering from left to right as she stares at her feet and <em>thinks</em>. Her decision is quick. “Meet me again here next week, will you?”</p><p>“I will,” he answers obediently. She gives him a nod and turns away swiftly. Her time is running out. But before she disappears around the corner, Samuel shouts after her. “And how are you called?”</p><p>--</p><p>Her heart is thumping when she walks towards her family’s carriage a week later. She needs to slip away and meet Samuel now, but the atmosphere isn’t as enraged as last week, and her parents would surely notice.</p><p>“May you allow Marina and me to pet the horses?” She asks her mother and points at the animals in front of the carriage, dozing there with their heads hung low, their brown fur shining in the sun.</p><p>Carla gives Marina a meaningful look, and the other girl nods. The blonde has told her the plan whilst their joint violin lesson yesterday. If there is any person Carla trusts, it is her.</p><p>Her mother breaks away from her conversation, lets out a long sigh and ultimately nods. “But not for long, we will be leaving soon.”</p><p>The thumping in her chest is interrupted by a nervous flutter as she realizes her success. Now she needs to be quick. She drags Marina along and makes her stand right next to the horses heads where their parents can still see her. The animals prick up their ears with interest when Carla steps in front of their heads, out of her parents sight. Her hand is stroking a soft muzzle as she looks across the road and focuses on the small alley. Will he be there? There is only one way to find out. “Stay here,” she whispers to her friend. “It won’t take long.”</p><p>Marina’s red curls bounce with a nod, then she nudges Carla’s shoulder, urging her. “Go.”</p><p>The boy – Samuel – stands in the exact place he did last week. If Carla didn’t know better, she would’ve said he hasn’t moved at all since their last meeting. He looks better now, cheeks a little fuller and not as hollow with hunger anymore. The sand colored-linen still hangs loosely around his skinny figure though, which is probably more due the fact his clothes aren’t tailor-made like hers than because he's starving. His hair also looks much neater. Carla can’t help but think she liked his wild locks more.</p><p>“You shall listen to me now,” she begins, not bothering about a proper greeting. “I live at Caleruega castle. My mother is the marquise and owner of a grand wine estate.” Samuel nods along with determined features. “One of her servants searches for harvest workers every year. You may have a chance to get employed over the summer. Then you won’t have to steal anymore.”</p><p>Carla takes his hands as if on instinct, only becoming aware of her actions when the feel of his warm skin creates a prickling sensation on her own. Samuel seems to feel it too, staring at their hands with shock. She wants to giggle at his reaction, but she can’t allow herself to get distracted now. “It will be your task to pick grapes, one by one, every day until the harvest is done. I believe it is exhausting, but they will offer you food and a place to sleep. You must come to our castle and introduce yourself to Mr. Martinéz. Ask him for work. He resides in one of the servant’s rooms, they are in the castle’s right wing. Can you follow me?”</p><p>“Mr. Martinez, the servant’s room’s, right wing,” he mutters under his breath.</p><p>“Very good,” Carla nods with satisfaction. “But be careful. My parents harbor no interest in the harvest workers for usual, but they were around when you were caught in the act of stealing. I assure you it will be from grand disadvantage if they recognize you.”</p><p>Worry lights up his eyes now. Carla squeezes his hands gently. “I trust you to make the right decision, Samuel.” She lets go of him reluctantly. “I am afraid I have no more time. But let me tell you one last thing: if fate works in your favor and you are allowed to support the harvest, you must not talk to me whenever we meet on my parent’s property. I won’t be allowed to talk to you, and I must apologize for it already.” She leans into him, confident that he can feel her breath on his cheek now, her words only a whisper. “Many eyes are upon me, and not all of them are kind.”</p><p>--</p><p>A few weeks pass by until Carla spots him at their estate for the first time. He is on his way back from the wine hill in the late afternoon, a few other boys around him who also work as harvesters. They carry their empty baskets on their backs, their boyish youth still emphasizing them to fool around, even after picking grapes for what must’ve been nine or ten hours.</p><p>Carla watches them from her place at the white garden table, Victorian-style and freshly imported from England. A smile creeps up her face at the boy’s chatter and laughter, but when Samuel turns around with a wide smile and looks at her straightly and directly, she feels her breath hitch in her throat and forces herself to focus on her book again.</p><p>--</p><p>Three years go by, and not once does Carla speak to Samuel. He worked his way up to become their coachman’s stable boy, meaning he works on their estate on long-term now. He is hard-working and eager to learn, though he can be a little clumsy at times. He was intimidated by the animals at first, but now cares for them with diligence and dedication. Samuel even replaced the coachman’s position of being responsible for their safety at night, meaning he moved into the small chamber above the stables, allowing the old man to finally take place in one of the servant’s rooms. Carla only knows this because the coachman has told it on one of their rides, and while her parents only nodded absentmindedly, the girl has listened carefully. Every information about him is of upmost importance to her, though she obviously can’t allow herself to let it show.</p><p>And then winter comes, colder and more ruthless than Carla has ever experienced before. The castle is covered in white thick snow one morning, and she immediately shudders when she peels herself out of her bedsheets. She asks a maid to light up the fireplace in her room as the first thing in the morning, and when her private lessons start an hour later, it is already comfortably warm.</p><p>She nuzzles in bed with a content sigh at the end of day, stomach full with roast and vegetables, cheeks heated with two glasses of red wine. She feels herself already dozing off when a forceful blast of wind pipes around the castle’s walls, and her eyes flutter open again not only because of the loud noise but also because a specific thought just struck her.</p><p>The alcohol in her veins offers the final encouragement for her to light up an oil lantern and grab a thick blanket out of the laundry room. Sharp wind cuts into her face as she sneaks out of the castle’s backdoor with quiet steps, thick snow creaking under her delicate leather shoes.</p><p>The massive wooden door squeaks when she opens it just a gap to slip inside the stables, the horses lurking out of their stalls with curious rumbles. It takes her a moment to orientate herself in the building she hasn't set foot in for many years, but soon her memory takes her to the small staircase at the other end of the stable. She takes the stairs slowly, step by step, lighting the way with her lantern while clutching the blanket under her left arm.</p><p>“Carla?!” Samuel asks when she reaches the end of the staircase. He looks completely aghast, holding up a wooden plank in defense.</p><p>“Were you about to hit me?” She raises her brows. “With a piece of wood?”</p><p>“I- I thought you were an intruder.” He shrugs in apology, his arms sinking down slowly. “Its in the middle of night.”</p><p>She can’t help but chuckle as she walks towards a small table and places the lantern on top. “You are one special boy, Samuel.”</p><p>“What?” he asks, sounding almost offended. “It is quite unexpected that someone comes up here in the middle of night with intentions that aren’t bad.”</p><p>“You don’t know my intentions yet," she smirks. He swallows heavily. Finally, she sighs and stretches her arms, holding the blanket out for him. “I wanted to give you these.”</p><p>He stares at her hands for a moment, then slowly takes it. “Thank you?”</p><p>“I supposed you were cold.”</p><p>When Carla lies in bed again, she replays the scene in her head again and again. She enjoyed it so much to be so close to him, speak to him, hear his voice again. And to see his pretty features properly again, not with hundreds of meters between them. The small dimples, long lashes, sparkling eyes. It tears a smile upon her face, and when she wakes up the next morning, the gentle crescent shape still hasn’t left her lips.</p><p>--</p><p>When she finds herself sneaking out at night the next time, her feet are still met with snow. December is nearing its end soon, and Christmas will be celebrated in two days. But Carla doesn’t feel like celebrating at all, her despair maybe a reason for why she seeks out Samuel again, this time with a stolen bottle of wine instead a blanket.</p><p>He isn’t as startled the first time, hasn’t even realized she entered his chamber since he is still laying in his small bed. “Carla?” His voice is thick with sleep as he rubs his eyes. “What leads you to me?”</p><p>She walks towards him with swaying steps, red wine swashing around in the bottle. He jerks up when her weight meets his mattress. For a moment, they just sit there like this, Samuel’s back pressed against the wooden headboard, Carla sitting sideways to him, perched on the bed’s edge. She guides the bottle to her lips and takes a long swig. “I was bored.” Her dark red lips widen in a grin.</p><p>“I know it is none of my concern, but have you drunk all that by yourself?” He looks at the bottle, red liquid only reaching half of the dark green vessel.</p><p>She blinks with heaviness and puts the bottle onto his nightstand with a thud, right next to the lantern she brought. The faint, lonely flame inside is the only source of light in the room. Carla stares at it in thought. “The marriage that has been arranged for me was annulled.”</p><p>She doesn’t even know why this deranges her as much as it does in the first place. It’s not like she particularly looked forward to get married to someone she isn’t certain of loving, but on the other hand she knew the boy since she was twelve, and he seemed quite fine. Furthermore, she’d sensed his rather weak nature at their first meeting, releasing a spark of hope inside her that if she played her cards right, <em>she </em>could be the one in charge in that arrangement. But all her hopes were gone now and the fear of her parents finding someone who doesn’t suit her at all was newly inflicted.</p><p>“And why is that?” Samuel asks, his posture relaxing against the headboard.</p><p>Carla chuckles bitterly. “I am not allowed to talk about it.” Its quiet for a moment, then she breaks her own silence. “But then again I am also not allowed to be here, either…Listen, if anyone were to find out that you know about this –“</p><p>He shakes his head quickly. “I won't tell anyone. You can trust me.”</p><p>“Well, fine.” She sighs, fiddling around with the hem of her nightgown’s sleeve. “Rumor has it that his mother was seen kissing their maid. Everyone talks about it - behind closed doors, of course. I certainly don't have to explain why my parents chose to distance themselves from the family, do I?”</p><p>Samuel clears his throat. “No, no. I understand. And you…looked forward to the marriage?”</p><p>“In certain aspects, I did, yes. I would like it best to choose for myself, naturally. But it has never been an option, and it never will be.”</p><p>“And who would you choose if you were allowed to?”</p><p>Amusement creeps onto Carla’s face at his blunt curiosity. She isn't used to be spoken to in such a way. “Someone I love, and who loves me back. And someone who doesn’t command me on what to do all day.” She shifts further onto the mattress, turning around to face Samuel properly. “But enough about me, tell me about you. Is there someone you’d wish to marry?”</p><p>His cheeks immediately turn pink with shyness. It makes her giggle. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”</p><p>He looks like he’s contemplating something for a moment, then leans over to his nightstand. He takes the single book laying on top, opens it and holds it out for her. It’s pages are cut to form a square hole, and inside, Carla finds a familiar piece of jewelry. She takes the necklace with careful fingers, letting the ring dangle down. “You never gave it away?” she whispers.</p><p>“I couldn’t,” Samuel answers, voice equally low. He takes her hands into his, the ring and necklace secured between both of hers. He searches her eyes and feels nothing but relief when he finally finds them, more sparkling than the emerald between their fingers ever could be. “Carla, I’ve been in love with you since we were children.”</p><p>In that moment, Carla’s world crushes, and so do her lips against his. He backs away in surprise, but Carla follows the movement with her lips, not letting the contact break. His breathing gets ragged when she parts his lips with her tongue nonchalantly, a warm and fuzzy feeling erupting inside of her. It is her first kiss since her parents always made sure to separate her from any boy until the day she got married, not keen on being the topic of any scandalous rumors. But Carla is sixteen now, and her phantasy has taken her to imagining kisses and other things more than once, and she has no more time to waste. </p><p>Kissing Samuel feels better than she could’ve ever imagined it. She knows he thinks the same when she catches the darkened shade of his eyes as they part, breathless and overwhelmed.</p><p>They kiss for what feels like an eternity and millisecond all at once, and when their need for each other seems satisfied at least to some extent, they lie beside each other and stare at the ceiling, disbelieving of what just happened.</p><p>“But where did you get food and clothes back then? If you haven’t sold the ring?” Carla wonders.</p><p>“My brothers stole a solid amount of plunder on which we lived on,” he explains. “And he encouraged me to take the opportunity of working here.”</p><p>She nods. “I want you to keep it, still.”</p><p>“Carla, I –“</p><p>“No,” she interrupts his protest, propping up onto his chest. She softly strokes his cheek with her knuckles. “You need it more than me. And its an insurance for worse times to come.”</p><p>--</p><p>Their nightly meetups become regular in the following weeks. They kiss, talk and joke around, and both feel the happiest they’ve ever been. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a hint of sadness and desperation hanging in the air whenever they realize that the time in which they live doesn’t mean for them to be together. Their parting will be inevitable, and they both know. They just hoped it wouldn’t come so soon.</p><p>When Carla enters the chamber with a wine in hand again at the beginning of May, Samuel instantly knows that something is going on. He takes the bottle from her and places it onto the nightstand carefully, and as soon as his hands are free, she collapses into his chest.</p><p>“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Samuel asks, rocking her softly. Her desperate state reflects his own feelings all too well, and the pain with which his chest fills up is barely bearable.</p><p>“My parents…found…someone new,” she chokes into the linen material of his shirt. “The marriage…will be…in July.”</p><p>Samuel feels his own eyes fill up with tears. “And he doesn’t meet your expectations?”</p><p>“I am not supposed to meet him beforehand,” she sits up and rubs the tears off her cheeks. “But I do not have to meet him to know he will not make me happy. I love <em>you</em>, Samuel. <em>I only love you</em>. No one else.”</p><p>The intensity of her voice is nearly too much for him. It may also be due to the fact she never explicitly told him that she loves him before. “I love you, too.” He cups her cheeks sadly. “But it will be for the best. I will never be able to offer you the life you deserve. And it is not said that you cannot be happy with him nevertheless. Look at yourself, Carla. And then look at me. We can’t be together, and you know this as much as I do.”</p><p>She does. She <em>knows</em>. Yet, she feels nothing but pure desperation. A cold shudder runs through her body, and when Samuel notices, he makes her lay down and tucks her into the blanket she brought him roughly six months ago. They lay there for a while, sharing not only their pain but also the comfortable warmth of their bodies, until Samuel begins to speak again.</p><p>“We may not be together now, but someday, we will.” He tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.</p><p>“What do you mean with that?” Carla frowns weakly.</p><p>“In another life,” Samuel smiles gently, “I will find you, and then I won’t let anything stop me from being with you. <em>Anything, </em>hear me?”</p><p>“There is no such thing as another life.” She fixates a random point on his chest to stop her eyes from becoming wet again. “Now is the only life we have.”</p><p>"Look at me." Samuel urges her chin up with serious features. "I promise you. And I'm not someone to break their promises."</p><p>--</p><p>That night became their last meeting. Carla doesn’t forget Samuel her whole life, even when he leaves the castle about one year later, rumors among the servants saying he went to Morocco with his brother in a dawn raid because he got involved into criminal activities and life in Spain became too dangerous for him. She still sees Samuel's face when she closes her eyes every night, and prays that he has it good wherever he lives now, happy with a wife and a few children. Sometimes, when the husband she was married to in said July is fast asleep, she lets a few tears slip, quiet but no less painful. The only string keeping her alive is Samuel’s promise.</p><p>
  <em>In another life, I will find you. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm very sorry about the unhappy ending but I hope knowing that they do find each other in the future makes up for that. Idk I felt kinda dramatic today...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Problem solving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here's the third prompt, requested anonymously :) Its an inside of Carla's feelings in S2 and a scene I invented to give us a bit of fluff &lt;3 </p><p>Prompt fill 3: "Why can’t I get you out of my head?"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time she consciously asks herself <em>the</em> question is when she’s bent over an particularly hard math task at her desk and can't seem to find any solution. She ultimately slams her pen down in frustration, making ink scatter over the checkered paper.</p><p>She’s always been good at math, the task of combining memorized rules with exceptions or especially hard cases being a welcomed challenge to her. Her brain usually wrapped itself around newfound problems with ease and skill, as if it was only sitting in her skull to find solutions to anything and everything. It was constantly hard-working and focused, never zoned-out or tired of things, also leading her to be good at detecting patterns in the environment she was confronted with, whether it was study-related or regarding the behavior of people around her.</p><p>The problem she has to solve now, however, brings her to her limit.</p><p>“Why can’t I get you out of my head?” she mutters to herself as she stares at the small picture beneath her thumb, the brown eyes seeming to be glowing at her not only because of her phone’s display brightness.</p><p>And then it hits her. It doesn’t feel like an electric shock or an <em>actual </em>hit whatsoever, more like when you’ve got something sitting on your tongue and still can’t find the word, like trying to remember the name of a song that’s stuck in your head or that one specific herb you taste in a meal and can’t quite put your finger on.</p><p>Usually the moment of finally figuring out the answer brings joy to her, gives her a feeling of supremacy and success, but right now, all it does is shock her.</p><p>No, no, no. That can’t be.</p><p><em>It apparently can</em>, she concludes to herself next morning in class. Because that fuzzy prickle she gets every time she looks at him can only mean one thing –</p><p>She pushes the thought away resolutely. <em>No. </em>Her eyes wander away from one brown-haired boy to another, finding a new target to put her frustration onto.</p><p>“How was your little date?” she leans forward on the tabletop while looking at her ex from behind.</p><p>“Went great.”</p><p>He sounds anything but convincing. Carla decides to dig a little deeper. “You still think you can pull one over at me after all these years?”</p><p>He turns around the same time as her phone chimes. She picks it up and looks at the screen for not more than two seconds, still it’s enough to make her heart spring. Samuel wants to meet her after class.</p><p>“And how are things with lover boy?” Polo asks back provocatively.</p><p>Her eyes twitch over to Samuel for a millisecond, yet it’s enough to make her cheeks heat up. She really hopes that the decent amount of makeup she smears into her face every morning lately does its job. Being caught red-handed isn’t exactly what she’s used to.</p><p>“Don’t be dumb, he’s not my lover boy,” she answers, desperately hoping that Polo can’t detect the insecure waver in her voice. “You know I’m with him for only one reason, and trust me, it isn’t about love.”</p><p>“You still think you can pull one over at me after all these years?” he asks back mockingly.</p><p>Shit. Even <em>he </em>sees it. Or <em>especially </em>he? Are there any <em>more</em> people who know? Do they <em>talk </em>about her and –</p><p>Before her mind can deep-dive into the frightening topic any further, their teacher comes in and hands them their tests back. She’s definitely done better before. Seems like her good education is the next thing to go down, right after her sanity. Great.</p><p>Her and Samuel’s meeting after class only makes her tumble more. She clings onto a pathetic excuse – they went shopping together, Polo and Christian bought the same shirt – but he sees right through the vague construct of lies. He’s on her heels, dangerously close. Too close, for Carla’s taste.</p><p>--</p><p>“When did you realize it?” Samuel asks one night, far after all those terrifying things had occurred back in school.</p><p>Carla stops stroking his cheek and rests the side of her head on her hands, shifting a little until her position in the sheets is comfortable again. “What?”</p><p>“That you’re in love with me.” He looks back at her with curious eyes. “You never told me.”</p><p>“Who says I’m in love with you?”</p><p>“Oh please.” Samuel’s hand finds its way under the blanket, pinching the bare skin beneath her ribs which makes her squeal. “Why do you have to be so cheeky all the time, hm?”</p><p>“Okay, okay, fine.” She gives in to escape the sweet torture of his fingers on her sides, breathless with laughter. “I’ll tell you.”</p><p>He lets go of her and settles back to lay on his side as he waits for her to speak. Now there’s a hint of amusement mixed into his curious gaze.</p><p>“While I was doing my math homework.” Samuel’s hand moves again, but this time, she grabs his wrist to stop him. “It’s the truth!” she exclaims, the anticipation of being tickled again energizing her. But then she gets more serious, her voice low and steady. “It really is. I sat there, frustrated not only because I wasn’t able to solve the math problem, but because I couldn’t find the answer to why <em>you</em>, of all people, were constantly haunting my thoughts. You were the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last at night.”</p><p>Samuel attentively listens to her, the small crease between his brows revealing his concentration. She has a strong urge to kiss it, but restrains herself and smooths it over with her thumb instead.</p><p>“And then I realized it all of sudden. I felt like I found the last piece of a puzzle I had been working on for weeks. I was weirdly relieved and satisfied, but at the same time extremely scared.”</p><p>Samuel gives her a small smile. “I felt like that, too – with a little more of the being scared part, probably.”</p><p>“Tss, I wasn’t even that bad.” She slaps his chest weakly. “What about you? When did you realize?”</p><p>“At our first kiss.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes, of course he was going to be cheesy about this. “Seriously? You literally tried to choke me seconds before.”</p><p>“I was angry and confused. But when I felt your lips on mine, I knew something was different.”</p><p>“Oh, come on,” she groans and rolls onto her back. “You were just a horny teenage boy. You still are, now that I think about it – just without the teenage part.”</p><p>Samuel immediately moves closer to her to erase the new space between them, glancing down at his girlfriend’s teasing smirk. “Charming as ever, aren’t we?” He tries to adapt her mocking sound but fails miserably. The way she licks her lips distracts him too much to sound anything close to cool, his words aren’t more than a faint breath. He senses she’s about to comment on that, so he does the only thing left to safe himself some dignity and slants his lips over hers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Rage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Have you ever wondered what happened after Samuel beat up his brother in the Halloween episode? Because I surely did, so here's my take on that. Have fun reading &amp; thanks anon for the request :)</p><p>Prompt fill 4: "Can I stay here for tonight?" (With the addition: Samuel telling Carla)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His whole body is shaking when he reawakes. He doesn’t <em>really</em> reawake though, he hasn’t been unconscious or anything, but he still can’t really grasp what happened in the last minute. He looks around, chest heaving violently, fists cramped together painfully tight. Everything is blurry. Samuel feels like the whole world around him has been shaken to the marrow. But that isn’t the case. It wasn’t the world that has been shaken, it has been <em>him. </em>He realizes when his eyes finally focus again and land on the slim figure behind him. Carla looks absolutely terrified. He needs a second to orientate himself. He feels the asphalt beneath his feet, the cold air around his head. He’s on a street, his brother crumped to his feet, sitting up against a car with his face distorted in pain.</p><p>“What’s going on here?” he hears a strong voice behind him. “Carla, are you okay?” Guzmán asks, approaching her.</p><p>She nods as much as the piled-up wig allows her to, voice shaky and quiet. “I’m fine.” Her gaze lands back on Samuel and Nano, eyes still full of despair.</p><p>“Come, let’s get you away from these scumbags.” Guzmán takes Carla’s shoulder, but the girl doesn’t move.</p><p>“No,” she protests quietly. Then shakes the guy’s hand off and takes a step forward, her voice more determined now. “No! I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>“Carla, please, can’t you see they’re danger–“ Guzmán’s words are cut off by the jingle Carla’s phone. The cab has arrived.</p><p>She stares at the screen and then looks back up, obviously contemplating what to do. It doesn’t take her too long to make a decision. Samuel still looks frantic, gaze alternating between his brother and the other two. Nano groans as he gets up slowly, steadying himself on the car.</p><p>“I can take care of myself, Guzmán. But thanks for your concern.”</p><p>Even when sitting in the back of the cab five minutes later, Samuel still feels disconnected. From himself, the world around him, simply <em>everything</em>. He looks down at his hands, laying in his lap limp and bruised. It feels like he’s watching them through the screen of a video game. Their sculpture changes in an interplay of lights and shadows coming through the car window, and he experimentally moves his index finger as if to check he’s still in control of his limbs. Suddenly, a foreign hand is placed on his left one. The touch is so light he’s not sure its actually there, and so his right hand moves to carefully touch the pale, flawless skin.</p><p>“Is everything okay?”</p><p>It takes him much effort to tear his gaze away from their hands, but when he manages, he’s met with a familiar pair of eyes. People always say green is the color of hope. Right now, its more the color of concern.</p><p>He can’t bring himself to say something until the ride ends. Its as if his vocal cords were paralyzed. Right now, he's simply glad he manages to breathe in a somewhat regular rhythm again, not even thinking of speaking. Its only when they come to halt in front of Carla’s house when he gains the strength to say something.</p><p>“Can I stay here for tonight?”</p><p>Carla turns to him with wide eyes, hand already on the door handle. “I told you the driver brings you home. I already paid for it.”</p><p>He can’t really remember her saying that, he’d been too zoned out for the whole ride. “I can’t go home now.” The words coming out of his mouth sound weirdly hushed and choppy. Samuel wonders if Carla notices it, too, but goes on talking at the same time, which only makes it worse. “Nano…he is…home…and I can’t…,” he trails off, eyes twitching from left to right. “I mean…Nano is home, isn’t he?”</p><p>Tears well up in his eyes. He can’t really remember anything.</p><p>“I called him a cab, too. I’m sure he’s home by now…Hey…look at me, Samuel.”</p><p>He registers her hand on his cheek. <em>When did she come so close?</em></p><p>“I can’t go home now,” he says in the faintest of whispers, carefully shaking his head to not loose her touch. Then he feels a slight breeze on his face as Carla lets out a heavy breath.</p><p>His legs feel wobbly when the blonde leads him up the stairs, her hand being his only anchor in the unfamiliar space. He tries to take everything in, but even the decent furnishing and decoration inside seem to overwhelm his senses.</p><p>“…a trip to Navarra. It’s a wine region, and they only come back tomorrow. Samuel?”</p><p>He finds himself in a large room when he switches back to reality. He shakes his head. “Sorry.”</p><p>Her demeanor changes again, the concern in her eyes coming back with full force. “You’re really not well, are you?” She stands in front of him, observing his blank expression turn to something close to crying.</p><p>When Samuel doesn’t answer, she makes him sit down on the edge of the bed and starts to unbutton his shirt. “Unfortunately, I can’t offer you something to wear. Unless you want to sleep in a pink lace pajama.”</p><p>He registers that the lighthearted tone is supposed to cheer him up, yet all he can do is slightly drag the right corner of his mouth up in a forced smile. The next time he tries to smile it’s at least halfway successful. The feel of her soft sheets enveloping his bare skin comforts him as he lays in her bed, stripped down to his boxers. Even better is the smell emerging from the fabric. <em>Her</em> smell.</p><p>“I’ll make us a tea, okay? Or do you want anything else?” Carla strokes his forearm lightly as she looks down at him from her position, sitting on the edge of the bed. Samuel hums no, assuring her that tea is fine.</p><p>“But I’ll peel myself out of this first.” She gestures at her outfit and head. “The corset is killing me. Not even to begin with the wig.”</p><p>Samuel frowns. “That’s a wig?”</p><p>The look she gives him is quite a challenge to decipher. She looks exasperated, then again, a smile makes its way to her lips. “God Samuel. Sometimes…” She shakes her head.</p><p>“What sometimes?” he asks, voice back to a normal volume contrary to the weak muttering that left his mouth since his outbreak. His curiosity never fails to energize him.</p><p>Her features shift to an expression much softer again, low voice matching. “Its just that…,” she takes his hand with deep sigh, “you shouldn’t be involved in all this. You really shouldn’t.”</p><p>Samuel knows that the kiss she presses to his temple is meant to distract him, and just the knowledge of that is enough to raise his suspicion again. What does she mean, <em>he shouldn’t be involved</em>? It’s a clear sign that she, to the contrary, <em>is </em>involved, or? Of course, that’s nothing new to him – but he still treats every hint he gets with an exceeding amount of care.</p><p>And every time he occupies his mind with the murder mystery seemingly no one tries to solve except for him, he ends up with the same thought, and that is desperately hoping there’s a simple explanation for Carla’s role in all that. That she isn’t involved in the way he suspects her to be, that she’s <em>innocent</em>. He just <em>needs </em>her to be. How could he ever justify falling in love with a girl that’s entangled in a <em>murder</em>? The murder of his ex, coming on top.</p><p>But the probably most nerve-racking thing is that the only person capable of comforting him is <em>her</em>. She’s the problem and solution all at once. The beginning and the end of this chaos. She feels like a planet everything evolves around, the mainstay of a fucked-up universe, dragging him into her atmosphere while simultaneously not allowing him to deviate from his orbit. And the final question is which power will ultimately succeed: the one attracting him or the one pushing him away? Because if there’s one thing Samuel’s sure of when Carla carefully sits down beside him twenty minutes later, without make-up and with two steaming mugs in hand, its that there’s no way around it: sooner or later, she’ll get out of balance. <em>They’ll </em>get out of balance. And one power will turn out stronger than the other.</p><p>When she makes him lay down on her chest later that night and begins to mutter words of comfort into his ear in the dark vast space of her room, her delicate hands roaming his back and neck and hair in soothing strokes, Samuel already knows the answer.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Isabel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: Do not read if you’re not ready for some winter depression to deal with. Lol no but really, this one hurts like a bitch: Why did you wait until I moved on? – for dejemicorazon &amp; an anon (the fact that this was requested TWICE; I detect masochistic tendencies haha). This is canon and set four years after their graduation. Its leaned upon the initial scenario of See you again, so there's mention of drug use and maybe a bit more swearing than usual, so I'd rate it T (please don't nail me down on this I'm so bad at the rating thing). Hope you like it :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Samuel isn’t too much of a morning person. He doesn’t have trouble getting up, its just that he likes to start into the day quiet and calm, preferably with a coffee in hand. Halfway trough his first cup, he usually begins to get more vital, even when his last night only consisted of five hours of sleep due to the exhausting mixture of uni and work that’s apparently his life now. His busy schedule doesn’t only exhaust him, though. Its also works as a nice distraction from his horrible last years of school.</p><p>Sometimes they still haunt him in his sleep, faces of his former classmates, dead or alive, situations full of desperation and anger and violence. Luckily, it gets better slowly. Not only because the time span between high school and his present life increased to four years already, but because he’s got someone that mends his wounds and sorrows.</p><p>They met in a bar. Late night, a few beers, Guzmán’s urging to make him hit on her. He remembers how relieved he felt when she engaged into his miserable attempt of flirting, how she immediately introduced herself and showed genuine interest. <em>Isabel.</em> She wore her brown smooth hair into a ponytail back then, fully revealing her friendly and pretty face. And he’d been lucky enough that he got to see her face more often from then on. They went on a few dates, and after about one month made it official. Until now, nearly everything went well. He and Isabel share many similarities, and that makes things just very <em>easy</em>. She’s as hard-working and humble as him, very social and pretty much always in a good mood. A sunshine. Just what he needs.</p><p>She even manages to be so when its barely seven in the morning, quietly whistling along to a song on the radio while preparing herself some cereal. Samuel smiles as he watches her from his seat on the table, taking another sip of the holy brown liquid in front of him. He unlocks his phone to check his messages like he does every morning (they have this old couple-y rule of <em>no phones in the bedroom, </em>erasing his habit of staring at the bright screen first thing when he wakes up), so he’s yet fully unaware of the message he received last night.</p><p>He’s right at entering his PIN when Isabel walks toward the table with her bowl in hand, giving him a kiss onto his head while ruffling his hair lovingly. “Is it safe talking to you yet?” She peaks into his half-empty cup.</p><p>Samuel lays his phone onto the table and spreads his arms up into a stretch, craning his neck to look at her upside-down. He hums contently, then pouts his lips for a peck. Isabel complies and looks down at him for a few seconds, hands massaging his shoulders before she sits down where she put her bowl onto the table.</p><p>She begins eating, and Samuel picks his phone back up. He uses his free hand to take another sip of coffee simultaneously to opening Whatsapp, and when the unanswered messages appear on the screen nearly dies because of choking on his coffee so hard.</p><p>“Is everything okay?” Isabel asks with a frown, her spoon stopping midway on its way to her mouth.</p><p>Samuel nods – his nonverbal answer fairly unauthentic due to his violent coughing. He desperately tries to catch some air, head already completely red. After one minute or so, he’s able to breathe normal again. He doesn’t outright look at his phone again, though. He needs a few minutes.</p><p>“Think you make it through your cup without dying?” Isabel asks when her bowl is empty, catching a glimpse of the clock on the kitchen wall. “I’d really like to supervise you, but I need to shower now.”</p><p>“Very funny,” Samuel shoots her a glance. “One would never guess you’re becoming a teacher.”</p><p>It’s a small wonder he’s even able to form a coherent sentence after his latest discovery. He’s pretty thankful for it. Making her unnecessarily suspicious is the last thing he needs right now.</p><p>He halfway expects to not find the message anymore when he unlocks his phone again. To find out it only had been an imagination, or wishful thinking. But that’s not the case. Its still there, sitting on top of all the other chats. He received it at one in the morning.</p><p>Carla: <em>Hey Samuel, it’s Carla. I know…</em></p><p>He takes a shaky breath before tapping onto the screen with his index to open the full message.</p><p>
  <em>I know it might be a bit surprising to hear from me after four whole years. It’s just that I’m kind of trying to find closure with everything and hoped that we could talk or something? I’d understand if you’re not interested, please don’t feel forced to meet up with me. Still, I’d be glad to see you again after all these years. If not, that’s okay too. Then I want to excuse for disturbing you. </em>
</p><p>Samuel stares at the arrangement of letters in utter shock, heart pounding and hands sweating. Then he reads the message again. And again. He’s kneading his lower lip with his teeth and turns around towards the bathroom. The shower’s still running. He sucks a sharp breath and makes a decision.</p><p>--</p><p>They agree upon meeting in a park. It’s the best decision they could’ve made, Samuel realizes when he’s waiting at the entrance. This way they won’t have to stare at one another the whole time and the fresh air will likely keep him from outright fainting. No, he’s not being overdramatic. He really feels like fainting. Not all law exams combined could make him as nervous as he is right now.</p><p>He nearly shrieks when she approaches his side.</p><p>“Samuel?” Her voice immediately sparks up a fire of excitement in his guts, and it only worsens when he turns around to take her in properly. She’s still beautiful as ever, though her hair is darker than he had in memory. Her slim figure had still remained the same, but her style is more casual now. She’s dressed in a tight white shirt with small ruffles at the sleeve’s ends and a pair of dark blue jeans.</p><p>“Carla, hey.” Samuel manages (yes, he <em>manages</em>, because its freaking hard for him to not go crazy) a smile. She eyes him with similar interest, probably registering some changes as well. He wears his hair a little longer now and there’s a slight stubble on his cheeks and chin. His taste in clothes hadn’t changed too much however, a simple tee and dark jeans are still his first choice on most days.</p><p>She flashes him a charming yet shy smile, then asks “Shall we…hug or something?”</p><p>“Yes, yes of course,” Samuel lets out a breathy laugh and opens his arms. It feels like he’s kicked in the stomach when she takes a step forward and wraps her arms around his torso. Despite her change in clothes, she’s still wearing that signature perfume of hers. He remembers burying his face into his sheets every time she left his apartment back in the schooldays, absorbing every last of her smell until his lungs were burning with lack of oxygen and eyes with abundance of tears.</p><p>“Thank you for agreeing on this,” she starts after they’ve walked a few meters. “I would’ve understood if you weren’t interested in ever talking to me again.”</p><p>Samuel furrows his brows and looks at her, but her gaze keeps focused on the asphalt in front of them. “Why? Its not that we had a fight or anything.”</p><p>“Why?” She chuckles bitterly, head turning towards him for a millisecond. “Well, maybe because I treated you like utmost shit the last months of school?”</p><p>They’re walking in silence for a minute, passing a family with giggling kids and a Golden Retriever. Then Samuel answers, voice pressing as if its intonation would help hammering the following words into her brain. “Carla, I forgave you. Long time ago, actually. The situation back then was…we were stressed to the maximum, all of us. I did things I’m not proud of, too, and I’m not judging you for the way you acted or what you did. I’m sure you had your reasons, although I didn’t understand them. It’s okay, I’m over it.”</p><p>Samuel thinks to detect a minor flinch shooting through Carla’s body at his last words. She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk about,” she says after another few seconds of silence. The atmosphere between them is heavy, contrary to the relaxed vibe of people all around them. “I want to explain why I behaved how I did. To make you understand, you know? I thought it’s only fair.”</p><p>His hands find the pockets of his jeans all on their own. “And why did you…?” His voice gets quieter with every word. “Why did you behave like that?”</p><p>The things she tells him thereupon are more crushing and heartbreaking than anything he could’ve ever imagined. He’s speechless when she finishes, mind going blank with that kind of rage he hasn’t felt for several years. “I- I don’t know what to say…” he finally whispers.</p><p>“You don’t have to say anything.” She gives him the tiniest of smiles. “I just felt that it would be only fair to finally tell you. Enabling you to find closure too. Though it kind of sounded like you already found it.”</p><p>It’s the break in her voice that finally makes him pull her into his arms. This time, his guts don’t twist with the overwhelming feel of her body this close to his, they twist with the exceeding amount of pain radiating off her as she shivers against his chest, desperately trying to hold everything in. He puts his chin atop of her head and squeezes his eyes shut at the weird looks people are giving them. There couldn’t be something less interesting him than what they think right now.</p><p>“I’m so, <em>so</em> sorry,” he whispers into her ear while hugging her even tighter. “I would’ve never let you go if I’d known this sooner.”</p><p>She shakes her head against his shoulder, sniffling quietly. “Don’t blame yourself, Samuel. I did everything I could to hide it, there was nothing you could’ve done for me.” Her green eyes are finding his as soon as she lifts her head. “And I’m back now. I’m back in Madrid, and I thought –“</p><p>He feels her eyes flicker onto his lips. <em>No, Carla, </em>he thinks, <em>please don’t do this</em>. But she doesn’t listen. How could she? If he’s only talking to himself instead of saying it out loud. Her lips are already brushing his when he finally gathers all of his willpower to turn his head away and mutter <em>sorry, I can’t do this. </em></p><p>Her arms sink down to her side momentarily, skinny shoulders slouching within the motion. Her mouth’s still slightly agape as she stares at him.</p><p>“Shit Carla why –?” He rubs his brows with his thumb and index, restlessly shifting from one foot to another. “Why did you have to wait until I moved on?”</p><p>--</p><p>There had been a time where Carla tried to solve problems rationally, without too much emotional involvement. But when they grew over her head so immensely no rational solution could solve them, she had no other choice than to focus her desperate energy onto something else. And the only target she had the heart to hurt was herself.</p><p>Maybe that’s why she’s sitting here now, facing Samuel over a cup of coffee. She regrets not choosing tea instead, already feeling the caffeine rattling her system and speeding up her heartbeat. On the other hand, its weirdly comforting. She once read that caffeine is processed in the same brain area as nicotine and cocaine. And to make it even better, it has minor side effects and major social acceptance compared to the other two. Anyways, she blames her tendency for self-destruction that she let him invite her into a café after he rejected her in the park, because every minute spent with him in the knowledge that he’s taken is basically the most torturous thing she ever did to herself. And she’s bound to make it worse.</p><p>“Tell me about her.” Look, her tactic consists of not seeming too affected and maybe gathering some usable information on the side. Not that she has a clue for what exactly the information should be usable.</p><p>“About Isabel?” Samuel asks, a little flabbergasted. Carla nods and hums in agreement. “Uh, oh, what to tell you…” He leans back in his seat. “She’s twenty-two, like you and me.”</p><p>The words ring in her ears like church bells on Christmas. <em>You and me. </em>God, she’s so fucked up.</p><p>“She has brown hair and blue eyes. Is about one head smaller than me, what’s kind of an achievement.” Samuel chuckles but Carla doesn’t bat an eye. He corrects his features to a more serious expression again. “She’s going to be a teacher, primary school. Has three years of uni left. She’s quite sporty, has a twin sister and two younger brothers, helps out at the animal shelter in every free minute…”</p><p>All in all, that girl – <em>Isabel – </em>turns out to be a fucking saint. Carla nearly laughs out loud when he tells her she organizes an annual donation marathon at her former school and works at the soup kitchen around Christmas every year. She and her mother prepare a big family meal every second Sunday, which Samuel naturally attends every time, and they even invited him to their vacation last summer. The last two weeks of August on Tenerife. She immediately tries to think of what she did during that time, and quickly concludes that her schedule in London mainly consisted of studying and trying to avoid mental breakdowns. Oh, and trying to catch something like a tan while sitting around in Hyde Park, watching people<em>. </em></p><p>It only fits that Samuel looks at his phone after one and a half hours and says that Isabel told him to greet her. And that dinner’s ready in an hour. They even <em>live </em>together – has Carla mentioned that yet? Samuel moved into her apartment after her former flat mate finished her studies and moved out. They turned her room into a living room – Samuel accidentally stepped into the pot of sand-colored paint on his way down from the ladder, what a laugh. Carla hates that it isn’t <em>her</em> who gets to tease him for that.</p><p>“You told her about our meeting?” Carla doesn’t even know why it surprises her. After all, Samuel’s the worst liar to walk the earth.</p><p>“Of course. Why shouldn’t I?”</p><p><em>Hm, let me think, </em>Carla’s inner voice speaks sarcastically, <em>maybe because I’m your former – well, what even was she? What were </em>they<em>? Lovers? Friends with benefits?</em></p><p>“Okay, to be honest I haven’t told her about our…” He answers his own question and gestures between them. “I mean I haven’t told her that we had sex back then.”</p><p>“Oh wow.” Carla feels her features slip. “And…what have you told her then?”</p><p>“That an old friend from high school came back from London and wants to catch up.”</p><p>The only thing left for her to do is stare at him. All this casualty – he can’t be serious. Is he really <em>over her</em>? Has he forgotten everything already? And if yes, how on earth did he manage to move on? She needs to know. Its all she wants for herself.</p><p>“Carla?” His questioning expression rips her out of her thoughts.</p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>“I asked how <em>you </em>were doing all this time. What’ve you been up to?”</p><p>She’s never been proud of how she spent her time in London, okay? The only thing is that compared to <em>Isabel, </em>she feels even more pathetic and pitiable than she already does. She has trouble not to stumble upon her next words. “I lived in London, you may have seen on Instagram…” Samuel nods with a warm smile. “And well, I did my bachelor’s in economics and did…yeah, the usual stuff students do, I think. Gym, partying, crying over my desk.” She bites her tongue. It sounds way less funny than she thought it would. Samuel’s expression shifts to being somewhat concerned.</p><p>“And why did you move back to Madrid?”</p><p>“Good questions.” She looks out of the window and watches a couple passing the café on the sidewalk. “Think I just wanted to come back home.”</p><p>--</p><p>Carla’s almost hundred percent sure that its Samuel who’s responsible for the invitation she receives a few days later. Rebeka asks her to join her birthday party on Saturday. They haven’t even talked since graduation. Samuel probably told his friend to invite Carla so she can reconnect with everyone. As if she wanted that.</p><p>Nonetheless she finds herself occupying several shops the next day to find a decent present for her. After a look upon Rebeka’s Instagram, she figures that exaggerating accessories still belong to her style repertoire. She goes for a pair of earrings and a matching necklace, golden and big and eye-catching.</p><p>She’s aware that Rebeka usually doesn’t mince words, but a little bit of insecurity is still left when the brown-haired girl unwraps the present and seems to genuinely like it. She even puts the jewelry on immediately. Carla feels a flash of relief.</p><p>Rebeka’s apartment is <em>cool. </em>Really, that’s the only word to describe it. It gives off a modern and kind of minimalistic vibe. The billiard table in the gigantic living room doesn’t surprise her, neither does the punching bag she catches a glimpse of when walking through the hallway beforehand. There are loads of people Carla doesn’t know, and the anonymity of the whole event calms her down. It would’ve been absolute torture if only her old classmates had been attending. Its already torturing enough when she spots a familiar head of messy brown hair – in company of another head of brown hair, one that she only knows from photos.</p><p>She’s standing next to Ander with a Rum and Coke in hand (that’s the only thing Rebeka had to offer next to beer, yikes) when they approach her.</p><p>“Heyy, you must be Carla!” Isabel smiles at her brightly. Her teeth are so white they nearly blind her, especially in contrast to her healthy dark tan. The blonde must look like a ghost next to her. Fucking London weather.</p><p>“Yeah, hello.” Carla smiles back, corners of her mouth twitching. “And you’re Isabel, right?”</p><p>The girl nods enthusiastically before pulling her into a hug. Samuel described her as sporty, which is definitely true given how tight her biceps feel around Carla’s slim shoulders.</p><p>“Samuel told me so much about you, I’m glad we’re finally meeting.”</p><p>“Oh, did he?” Carla’s eyes flicker to Samuel who looks kind of pleading. <em>Don’t worry, </em>she thinks, <em>I won’t tell her that I fucked you in a club’s bathroom. </em></p><p>“Of course he did. Is it true your family’s noble?”</p><p>“My mother, yeah.” Her middle finger begins to tap against the glass. It’s the only form of stress relief she allows herself right now.</p><p>“That’s so cool,” Isabel emphasizes. “My family’s extremely boring in comparison –“</p><p>“Do you want something to drink, Bell?” Samuel asks quickly. The girl smiles, a little irritated.</p><p>“You know I don’t drink at the moment, don’t you honey?” Okay that’s it, Carla wants to <em>puke. </em>Isabel tells him to get her a Coke or something and turns back to her. “I’m taking a break from alcohol right now, you know? I just lately realized how weird it is that the consumption of something so harmful receives so much approval in society. And seriously, I don’t need intoxication to make me feel better. Its sad some people do. Nothing personal, though.”</p><p>“Sure.” Carla nods and takes a big sip from her glass – simply out of protest. At least she can sense that Ander next to her seems to be annoyed too, letting out sighs every time the girl’s squealy voice fills the room.</p><p>After twenty agonizing minutes of small talk, Carla excuses herself to the toilet. Only that she doesn’t go for the toilet but mixes herself another drink and disappears onto Rebeka’s balcony. Contrary to her hopes, she isn’t alone. Rebeka is leaned against the railing with a cigarette in hand.</p><p>“Already had enough attention tonight?” Carla props her elbows onto the railing and stares down at the city lights beneath her.</p><p>“For the whole next year, actually.” Rebeka blows out smoke. “But everyone threw a birthday party, and I didn’t want to be the asshole that’s inviting nobody.”</p><p>Carla nods and brings the glass to her lips. “Makes sense.”</p><p>“And what are you doing out here? What did you flee from? Your jealousy or that bitch’s nonsense talk?”</p><p>Carla gasps. “Woah, okay.” She turns around and mirrors Rebeka’s position, both of them looking into the living room through the big window now. Isabel and Samuel are still talking to Ander. Guzmán joined them, too. “You don’t like her?” Carla finds herself asking a minute later.</p><p>Rebeka snorts and throws her cigarette into the ashtray. “Hell, no. She’s fucking annoying.”</p><p>Seems like things are slowly becoming interesting. “And why?”</p><p>“You’re really asking that? Just look at her, clutching to her Coke and talking about her alcohol abstinence or gym routine or whatever other thing she tells people to make them feel like shit. It goes like this non-stop ever since I’ve known her. No bitch, I don’t know the stupid board game you and your family were playing last night, and it certainly doesn’t fucking interest me.”</p><p>Carla raises her brows. The amount of satisfaction this gives her is kind of unsettling. It doesn’t prevent her tendency for self-destruction to arise, though. “She seems like the kind of girl Samuel would fall for. So…I don’t know. Lively. And happy.”</p><p><em>Its what he deserves</em>, Carla thinks. Someone happy. Someone without issues and a rotten family. Someone who attracts good things instead of bad, who spreads joy and makes him laugh. Not like her, a colossal fuck-up that spent two out of four years in London within a hair’s breadth of a substantial drug addiction, who only made it through for the sake of a friend who dragged her skinny ass to a therapist when it got gradually worse. She’s done with it now – the drugs, not the therapy – yet she can’t help but think that she spends her life in the shadows, while girls like Isabel shine bright like the sun.</p><p>“Yeah, <em>lively, </em>exactly.” Rebeka scoffs. “Especially when it comes to other guys.”</p><p>“You mean she –?”</p><p>“Cheated on him? Yes. Twice, to be accurate.” The brunette clicks her tongue in disgust. “And yes, he knows. Forgave her, of course. That idiot. And honestly? If I had the power to switch <em>you</em> for <em>her</em>, Marquesita, I wouldn’t waste a second.”</p><p>Carla only blinks, chest heating up with anger. “What a fucking bitch.”</p><p>Maybe, just maybe, her chances aren’t as bad as she thought. And to make one thing clear: She won’t give up on him that easily. Especially not after he catches her staring at him through the window and keeps his gaze focused on her instead of looking away. Its the kind of look he gave her four years ago when it was their only way of communicating, longing and deep and questioning. Carla doesn't hesitate to finish her drink in one go. Her eyes flicker to the balcony door. She's determined to erase every question left between them now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Looks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Has anyone said "plotless, domestic fluff"? Because that's what this chapter is basically (yeah right this one's for you @shawsameen). The prompt is: "You look happy." </p><p>I wrote six small scenes in which Carla and Samuel tell each other how they look. So if you pay attention, you'll find six sentences with the words "you look..." - one in every scene! Have fun reading :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Out of all weekdays, Thursday has become Carla’s favorite lately. It’s kind of weird, considering most people prefer the weekend, but she can explain.</p><p>It started as soon as she and Samuel began to establish something like a daily routine, living in their apartment. And the Thursday routine goes like this: they wake up together, have breakfast, go to uni. Though Carla’s day is longer than Samuel’s, she’s home first. Because, and that’s the whole point, Thursday is the day Samuel goes to Rebe every afternoon. For his weekly boxing exercise.</p><p>Carla’s eyes dart towards the hallway as soon as there’s the jingle of keys to be heard. She’s only still holding onto her book for the sole purpose of not looking too desperate. But let’s be honest, she’s read the same sentence over and over again for the last ten minutes.</p><p>“Hey.” Samuel pops his head through the door with a smile, skin glowing with exertion.</p><p>She finally closes her book with a thud, teeth sinking into her lower lip. “Hey.”</p><p>“I’ll have a quick shower and then we’ll make dinner?” Samuel asks, rubbing a bit of after-sweat off his forehead. When Carla answers with a firm <em>no</em>, he enters the room in silent question. “What do you mean, <em>no</em>? Have you already eat–“</p><p>“Samuel, come here.” She changes her position on the couch, tucking her lower legs beneath her butt. Samuel does as he’s told, unsure if the wobble in his knees is caused by exhaustion or that signature tone in Carla’s voice. <em>Bossy. </em></p><p>“What is it?” He chuckles quietly, now standing in front of the couch.</p><p>“You’re seriously thinking you can walk in here looking like this and just disappear into the shower? I beg you, but no.” Her eyes wander down his body, appreciating the loose muscle shirt and sweatpants as well as the after shine of sweat over his chest and arms.</p><p>He looks down at himself. “What am I looking like, then?”</p><p>“You look hot.” Carla reaches out, sticking her index finger into the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling him closer. He goes without protest. “Fucking hot.”</p><p>“Carla, I’m all sweaty and – shit,” he groans when the blonde lifts his shirt and leaps her tongue over his right hip bone.</p><p>“Then make me sweat, too,” she says, no, <em>demands. </em>The darkness in her big eyes effortlessly supports her intention. She leans up and curls her finger around his silver chain, dragging him down until he’s hovering over her. It doesn’t take more than two words carefully whispered into Samuel’s ear to finally push him over the edge.</p><p>--</p><p>Adapting habits of the people you’re spending much time with is a common phenomenon. It happened to Samuel a few times; with words or phrases, sometimes even specific movements. He got obsessed with music genres he always claimed to hate or started that one series Omar wouldn’t shut up about – and liked it (very much). But there are certain things he never thought of being able to like. Wasting an awful lot of water while sitting in a mountain of almond-scented foam, for example.</p><p>But okay, its not just about the foam.</p><p>“What are you doing?” he mumbles with closed eyes. The gentle touch on his cheeks feels pretty good, yet he’s curios.</p><p>“Applying some peeling,” Carla answers, fingertips massaging the sides of his nose now. “You seriously need to establish a daily skincare routine, Samuel.”</p><p>“I wash my face every day, I have this three-in-one…,” he trails off, contently sighing when her fingers move up to his forehead in circular motions.</p><p>“You smear something into your face you also use as shampoo and shower foam and call it skincare,” she scolds. Or tries to. She’s not able to keep her voice strict when he’s looking like that, head rested against the edge of the bathtub with closed eyes, wet hair slicked back and the light orange Cranberry peeling mask all over his face. She kind of regrets not having her phone in the bathroom to perpetuate the moment in her gallery.</p><p>Its quiet for a minute. Then Samuel feels her tapping against his shoulder. “What?” he grumbles.</p><p>“Your turn.” He opens his eyes and finds Carla holding the peeling bottle into his face.</p><p>Its really hard to <em>not </em>constantly kiss her face while he applies the peeling as gently as she did to him. The way she closes her eyes and holds still with a small smile is just too adorable.</p><p>“Are you done?” she asks after a minute. Samuel’s lips crack into a smile. Patience isn’t her strong suit. <em>Definitely</em> isn’t.</p><p>“One second…yep, done.”</p><p>Her eyes immediately turn into slits when she opens them again and is confronted with a mischievous smirk.</p><p>“What have you done?” She grabs the small cosmetic mirror from the bathtub’s edge and takes a look. Next to the thin orange layer in her face, there’s a huge amount of white foam piled up on her head. At second glance, she also finds herself having a foamy goatee beard on her chin.</p><p>“Very funny.” She shakes her head and puts the mirror away.</p><p>“I think you look cute.” Samuel shrugs innocently. “Besides, the goatee suits you. Ever thought about growing one?”</p><p>Aaand the previous relaxation is gone. There’s a huge splash of water coming at his face as Carla’s hands hit the liquid surface with full force. Samuel’s try to avoid it with his hands is majorly ineffective. He knows better than to splash back and blindly reaches for his girlfriend’s shoulders instead. It takes him a moment to get a grip due to the masses of water still hitting his face, but when he gets a hold, he immediately drags her into his chest.</p><p>Carla collapses into him in a fit of giggles and Samuel makes a grimace as the foam on her head gets into his mouth. He strokes it off her head carefully, hand sliding down to cup her jaw.</p><p>“Truce?” Samuel asks when she lifts her head. But instead of her soft lips, all that touches his mouth is another splash of water.</p><p>--</p><p>“Samuel…” Carla looks at her boyfriend, left eyebrow raised to the maximum. “You’re not serious, are you?”</p><p>“What?” He stretches the fabric of his shirt and looks at the Hawaiian pattern. “The theme is <em>beach party</em>.”</p><p>“You look ridiculous…” Carla mutters under her breath, opening one of her closets in the dressing room to search for her own outfit. A white skirt with a green palm pattern to match her white bikini, way more decent and actually elegant. She grabs the pieces she needs and closes the door, taking a second look at Samuel who eyes himself in the mirror with a thoughtful look.</p><p>Carla’s expression softens as she places a hand onto his shoulder. It’s covered in ugly turquoise fabric, an even uglier floral pattern upon it. “But hey, in the end its you who has to wear it, and if you want to look like a funky dad in his mid-forties, then go for it. “</p><p>She catches him roll his eyes in the mirror. “It’s supposed to be funny. We’re invited at Guzmán’s party, not the New York Fashion Show. Besides, he told me he’ll be wearing something similar.”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Carla shrugs. “You don’t need to excuse, go for it.”</p><p>Then her eyes fall on the paper bag in front of Samuel’s feet, the fabric inside matching the one of his shirt. “Oh no. No no no. Sorry.” She waves her hands in avoidance, trying to erase the pleading look on Samuel’s face.</p><p>“I thought it’d be funny if we matched.” And before she can protest, he’s holding up a Hawaiian dress, turquoise and with the same terrible floral pattern. He’s actually grinning now. “It doesn’t even matter what you’re wearing. You’ll look hot anyways.”</p><p>Carla laughs, a little desperate. “I said no.”</p><p>“Oh my god…” Rebeka mutters under her breath one hour later. Guzmán gives her a questioning look, standing next to her with a cocktail in hand. The girl nods her head towards the garden gate.</p><p> “Look at these two. Fuck, they look terrible. Never would’ve thought Carla lost her dignity so quickly. If that’s love, I don’t want it – I’m serious.”</p><p>--</p><p>Carla kind of regrets that she agreed to visiting this new scene bar in the outskirts of town. Not because the bar itself was bad – she had a nice evening in between the mix of neon lights, modern furnishing and smoked cocktails – but having to wait twenty minutes for a taxi in a mostly quiet, dark area isn’t exactly how she pictured her Saturday night to end. Oh, and to make it even better: its cold, freaking cold. So cold that not even the man beside her is able to warm up her insides, and that should say something.</p><p>“Hey.” Samuel pokes her shoulder with a dull gaze, nose red with cold.</p><p>Carla sighs, cuddling herself even deeper into her winter jacket, head disappearing in the frame of beige fur around her head (its fake, no worries. But the ultra-realistic kind of fake, naturally). She takes out her phone and considers calling the taxi service again. They’re in Madrid, for god’s sake, it seriously can’t take <em>this </em>long, can it?</p><p>“I’m sure it comes any minute now.” Samuel tries again, words a bit slurry. He takes a step forward and slides his hand into the pocket of Carla’s coat, joining hers.</p><p>Carla jumps at the feel of his skin. “Jesus, your hands are freezing! Are you sure you still have all your fingers?”</p><p>He holds both of his hand in front of his face, examining them under the dim streetlight. After a few seconds, he sighs contently and holds them into her face with his fingers spread. “Still ten. See?”</p><p>“That last drink…” She shakes her head. Its not like she’s completely sober here, but definitely not half as hammered as him (she hasn’t brought it up yet, but secretly knows that her alcohol tolerance is way better than his). As if to prove that fact, Samuel tries to take a step forward but ends up stumbling clumsily. Carla steadies him by gripping his shoulders. “Everything okay there?”</p><p>He nods slowly. “When you’re there, always.”</p><p>Great, he apparently reached his flirty stage. And guess who’s the target of every one of his attempts from now on? It’s the dumb grin that tells Carla he’s about to continue. Sometimes she thinks he’s just teasing her, but right now she isn’t even sure he’s able to consciously <em>tease</em> her. His hands find her hips while she’s still clutching to his shoulders, then: “You look like a snack.”</p><p>“If that’s supposed to be flirty,” Carla pushes his chest away with her index, “just know it isn’t.”</p><p>She turns around and walks a few meters, reaching for her phone again. The air she heavily blows out through her nose immediately turns into small white clouds before evaporating into the night sky.</p><p>“It isn’t my fault the taxi’s late,” Samuel states, coming closer again. “Carla, please. I just wanted to make you laugh.”</p><p>“Well, it didn’t work.”</p><p>“Are you still angry?” Samuel asks her about thirty minutes later. They’re cuddled in bed now – after all, the taxi came and brought them home – and while Carla’s still scrolling through her phone, she feels his eyes analyze her features.</p><p>“I wasn’t angry in the first place,” she states rather unimpressed. Its true, and if anything, she hadn’t been angry at <em>him. </em>She turns her head. “Its all fine, okay? Now go to sleep, drunkhead.”</p><p>Its quiet for a moment, and Carla’s about to bask in the fact she’s having peace now, when she feels Samuel shift and put his head into the crook of her neck. The cuddly stage. It usually comes when he’s too tired to keep the desperate flirting up.</p><p>“You know this isn’t leading to sex, right? Though I’m pretty sure you’re not capable of it anyways right now.”</p><p>“I don’t want sex,” he nuzzles into her neck. An inevitable shiver runs through her and she feels him grin against her skin.</p><p>“Hmh, sure.” Carla puts her phone onto the nightstand and turns the nightlamp off. As soon as she’s back in her position, Samuel’s head finds its way back onto her shoulder. They lay in the dark for a moment, then Carla feels something pinch the skin of her collarbone. A protesting noise leaves her mouth, along with “Did you just <em>bite </em>me?”</p><p>“I told you, you look like snack.”</p><p>Carla smacks the first pillow she can find onto where she assumes Samuel’s head, giggling in revenge when he lets out an <em>ouch</em>. “Now go to sleep for fuck’s sake.”</p><p>“Okay, Ma’am,” Samuel mumbles, making Carla roll her eyes. What did she do to deserve this?</p><p>--</p><p>By now, Samuel knows Carla in and out. It’s the pleasant side effect of living with her for almost five years now, of sharing his daily life with her. The following reaction, however, isn’t what he expected. It isn’t what he expected at all.</p><p>“What?” Carla looks at him with literal terror in her eyes, shaking her head slowly. “No. You can’t do that.”</p><p>Samuel chuckles lightheartedly and turns his head back to the TV. But her green eyes remain on his face. Or on his hair, more exactly.</p><p>“They get into my face all the time,” Samuel complains and pulls on a strand of his hair, straightening the dark lock. “They’re <em>so </em>long.”</p><p>“But you’ve worn them like this all those years and never had a problem with it.” She crosses her arms over her pajama-covered chest.</p><p>Seriously? She’s going to fight him over a <em>haircut</em>?</p><p>Samuel shrugs and puts another hand of chips into his mouth. “I’m tired of them. Do you know how long it takes to style them every morning?”</p><p>“Five minutes. It takes you <em>five</em> minutes. You know how long I need to put all that make up on and do my hair?” Her eyes glisten dangerously. Time to back off.</p><p>“Longer, probably. And its great you’re so devoted, but I am not.” Samuel shrugs apologetically. Why is he even <em>excusing</em> for wanting to get a haircut? “You’re not only loving me for my hair anyways, are you?”</p><p>She whispers something that sounds an awful lot like <em>I wouldn’t be so confident with that </em>and stares at the TV with furrowed brows.</p><p>“What was that?” Samuel asks, fake-threatening her while he shifts closer to the other end of the couch. “What did you say, hm?”</p><p>He doesn’t even has his hand on her hip, yet she’s already having a hard time to hide her smirk, eyes intensely fixed on the glowing screen in front of them.</p><p>“I said nothi –“ Her words are cut off by a high-pitched squeal, triggered by Samuel’s fingers squeezing into the soft flesh of her rips.</p><p>“I’ll miss grabbing onto them,” she pouts half an hour later while she’s looking up at him through long lashes.  Her right hand massages his scalp, which feels at least half as good as the sex they just had.</p><p>Samuel kisses her nose and smiles at her. “You’ll get used to it.”</p><p>But Carla wouldn’t be Carla if she let go of this so easily. So it doesn’t wonder Samuel when she observes him extra closely as he’s preparing dinner the next day. Its something she did right from the beginning, just standing next to him or sitting on the counter, stealing food or giving advice instead of actually helping – but this time she’s even more observant than usual. Its when Samuel annoyingly rubs a few locks off his forehead with his lower arm that she hops off the counter and quickly disappears into the bedroom. Before he can wonder what she’s doing, she’s back. With two hairclips in hand, all covered in pearls.</p><p>“Come here.”</p><p>Samuel lets his arms fall down and sighs defeatedly. She carefully fumbles around in his hair, pink tongue captured between her lips, and proudly smiles when she’s done. Another two seconds and she’s holding her phone into his face, snapping a picture and turning it around for him to see. The clips hold his hair back quite efficiently, but he looks – well.</p><p>“Oh come on.” Samuel shakes his head with a laugh.</p><p>“What?” Carla smirks and heaves herself back onto the counter whilst looking at the picture more closely. “I think you look pretty.”</p><p>--</p><p>The beach always had a special place in her heart. The salty air, endless waves, light powdery sand beneath her feet – even the damn seagulls that stole her ice cream one time when she was a kid. But her most favorite thing about it is the effect it has on people. Nobody can hate the beach, right? And she remembers the first time she went to the beach with Samuel, a well-deserved vacation in a beautiful small seaside town. Over the years, it became their tradition to go there on an annual base, even if only for a long weekend. And by now, they even know some of the locals – though mostly those who own the restaurants they’re dining in every night, stuffing their stomachs with heaps of seafood and the obligatory (yes, for Carla its <em>obligatory</em>) dessert.</p><p>This summer vacation isn’t any different, yet they’ll probably remember it for the rest of their lives.</p><p>“How many times have we been here now?” Samuel loudly thinks, their entwined hands swaying carelessly in the breeze of the most beautiful summer night. The sun dips the entire beach into a bright golden shine, and the first cicadas begin to sing their mating songs, chirping loudly - along with the content but everlasting mumble of people sitting in the outside areas of restaurants and the murmuring waves not far away, the ultimate sound of summer.</p><p>“Seven,” Carla answers and smiles at him. Its crazy how fast she gets a tan despite her light skin tone, and with her fluttery white summer’s dress and wavy beach hair she looks simply breathtaking. “It’s our seventh time.”</p><p>Samuel nods with a smile – the kind of smile that’s ever-present every time they’re here. Not that he smiles less when they’re back at home, it’s just the atmosphere and being here with <em>her</em>. It has nothing less than a therapeutic effect on him. All the work-related stress and daily troubles forgotten as soon as they set foot onto the town’s ground. His steps become slower when they reach a special place at the promenade.</p><p>Carla gives him a questioning look, then quickly remembers. “Oh right. The photo.”</p><p>It’s the place where they take a photo every time, documenting their vacations throughout the years. Samuel asks a woman passing by to take a picture of them and she agrees. “Of course, I’ll just take a few, right?”</p><p>They stroll the promenade a little longer before swapping the grey bricks for white sand and sitting down to look at the sunset. Samuel takes his phone out of his pocket to see if at least one of the photos is usable.</p><p>“That’s my favorite.”</p><p>“That’s your favorite?” Carla snorts. She examines it more closely but can’t find anything positive about it. Her hair is a freaking mess due to the wind, and she’s full on laughing because of some dumb joke Samuel made that she already forgot about again. “God, I look horrible. Why on earth should that be your favorite?”</p><p>Samuel looks at the screen again. “You look happy. That’s why.”</p><p>Carla tilts her head and raises her brows.</p><p>“Really, I mean look, that’s been our first year.” He clicks onto the album in which he keeps photos of them. They’re standing in the same place, arms wrapped around each other’s backs, squinting against the midday sun. Okay, maybe <em>that’s </em>the reason why she doesn’t look as relaxed as in their last picture. But Samuel knows there’s more to it. He shows her the other pics.</p><p>“Throughout the years, you just look…I don’t know, happier with each. More relaxed, more comfortable in your skin. Less tense, less thinking about how you may look and it’s– it’s just beautiful. You’re beautiful.”</p><p>She looks up at him with glassy eyes. She’s always a little overwhelmed when she’s finally able to relax on vacation, but this kind of being overwhelmed doesn’t come exclusively from that.</p><p>“I seriously don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Her voice raises with every word and is cut off by a loud sniffle. Samuel gently pushes her head against his chest and kisses her hairline, already lightened with sun and saltwater after just one day.</p><p>“I ask myself the same every day,” he whispers back, his own eyes burning as well.</p><p>They sit there like this a few minutes, clutching onto one another and staring at the bright fireball disappearing into the sea, until Carla shifts and pushes herself up again. Her cheeks are glowing with emotion and the aftermath of excessive sun-bathing, eyes brightly staring at him. “I never want this to end again. Seriously, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”</p><p>Samuel snaps out of admiring her beauty, brown eyes becoming livelier again. “Did you just…propose to me?”</p><p>Her laughter is hysteric and mixed with the sound happy tears, and its only fueled when Samuel goes on: “If yes, that’s the worst proposal ever. I mean where’s the photographer, the rose petals? Do you even have a <em>ring</em>?”</p><p>She shakes her head, wiping her eyes and trying to calm down from her erratic state. So this is what they mean with being <em>love-drunk</em>. “Fuck the photographer. And rose petals. And the ring.”</p><p>Samuel lets out a little laugh himself and only then she registers that he’s crying, too. She grabs his heated cheeks and wipes the thin streaks of tears away with her thumbs. “So, was that a ye–?”</p><p>He shuts her up the way she likes best. Their kiss isn’t the most perfect one – they’re both sniffing and overwhelmed, and their lips move messily and uncoordinated because of their bright smiles – but that doesn’t matter, no? It doesn’t, as long as they’re <em>happy</em>.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Movie night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So here's a bit of fluff for youu. The chapter takes place in the KMTIS-universe and its an resumption of their roadtrip. The prompt is "You're just a softie", suggested by lyl-26. Hope you like it! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite spending every waking (and sleeping) minute together, Carla and Samuel barely have any differences in opinion. And even when they have, they manage to find compromises quite fast every time, avoiding to waste their precious energy in pointless fights over what to eat or where to go next. Because a road trip can be draining sometimes – not the stressed, exhausted form of draining, rather the one that leaves you excited and satisfied – but its still, well, <em>draining. </em></p><p>And therefore, spending <em>a night in </em>isn’t the worst thing to do every now and then. Doing a bit of recharging and such. (For anyone who didn’t get it: <em>and such </em>means sex in this context). So now, they’re cuddled into the small bunk over the driver’s cabin, the only source of light being the fairy lights Samuel installed to make it comfy, physical needs satisfied and ready to indulge in a proper movie session. There’s only one problematic thing to this: its Carla’s time to pick a movie.</p><p>She heads straight for the horror section on Netflix. Maybe this’ll be one of the rare occasions they<em> do</em> have different opinions.</p><p>“Really?” Samuel protests. “A horror movie?”</p><p>Carla shrugs. “Why not? We haven’t watched one in ages, and last time you said you liked Conjuring, so I thought we could watch the second part tonight.”</p><p><em>There’s a second part?? </em>Why on earth should there be a second part of this torture? And who even <em>watches </em>it? The answer is easy – his girlfriend, apparently.</p><p>“Or do you have a problem with it?” she asks, cursor already hovering over the movie’s icon. The picture alone is enough to speed his heartbeat up – what he would never admit, of course. Showing weakness would only result in her teasing him, and man, its only a movie, or? He should calm down.</p><p>Samuel shakes his head as unimpressed as possible. “No, go on. It’s cool.”</p><p>It is <em>not </em>cool. The scary nun that scurries over the screen only a few minutes into the film already manages to freak him the fuck out. How is he supposed to live through one and a half hours of this? Wait – the movie goes one and a half hours, or?</p><p>“I don’t know.” Carla shrugs and moves her hand over the mousepad. The timeline shows two hours left, and they’re already about fifteen minutes in. Shit.</p><p>“Do you even see anything?” she asks another fifteen minutes later after they swapped their positions so that he’s spooning her. The sight of his left eye is completely blocked by blonde hair so he doesn’t really see much, but –</p><p>“Yeah, its fine.” Its probably better if only one of his eyes is confronted with the many jumpscares of the movie. It makes it also easier for him not to twitch every two minutes when the screen shows yet again a scary scene combined with an even scarier sound effect. He also copes by inhaling the scent of her shampoo and closing his eyes every now and then. At least until Carla turns her head and calls him out for it.</p><p>“Heyy, you’re not even watching!”</p><p>Okay. Opened eyes it is, then.</p><p>When they’re halfway in, Samuel decides to play his joker. “Can you pause? I need to pee.”</p><p>He pees <em>extra </em>slowly and then goes on an extra slow search for snacks. The downside of a camping van is that there are no separate rooms.</p><p>“Chips are in the top left,” Carla says from where she’s sitting on the edge of the bunk, pointing at the “kitchen” cupboard. “Now hurry up.”</p><p>Now he’s got at least the sound of chip crumbs between his teeth to distract him from the horrifying sounds coming out of the laptop’s speakers (horrifying not only because of the movie – the sound of the laptop boxes itself is horrifying enough for a musician’s ears). And just like that, halfway hidden behind his girlfriend’s blonde mane while chewing on chips, Samuel makes it through the movie.</p><p>“Did you like it?” Carla turns around in his arms as soon as the credits start running.</p><p>“Honestly?” Samuel asks. Manly or not, he won’t fake liking another horror movie if it results in her wanting to show him more and more. “I think it was fucking scary.”</p><p>Carla giggles and strokes his cheek. “You’re just a softie.”</p><p>He scoffs. “I mean why would anyone watch this voluntarily? I don’t get it.”</p><p>“I guess I like the adrenaline,” Carla contemplates. “And it helps me when I feel sad. Because no matter how bad I’m feeling, at least I’m not possessed by a demon or hunted by a slasher killer in a lone forest. The thought somehow comforts me.”</p><p>“Wow.” Samuel shakes his head. This is kind of… sad? “Okay, that’s– if it helps you, fine, go on. But I’m pretty sure this tactic doesn’t work for me.”</p><p>Samuel knows that horror movies aren’t capable of making him feel better. If anything, they have the exact opposite effect.</p><p>It shows when he wakes up two hours later at about one in the morning. A time when it should be dark and quiet around them. <em>Should</em>, because in fact, it isn’t.  </p><p>“Carla,” Samuel whispers and shakes her shoulder gently. She makes a disapproving hum and turns away from him, head sliding down his arm.</p><p>He sighs and stares at the dark ceiling for a minute, knowing that waking Carla up in the middle of the night may be worse than the thing that’s making noise out there. But then there’s another dull, loud sound right over their heads, and Samuel winces in fright. He <em>needs </em>to wake her up. She’ll know what to do. So, he tries again, with a little more encouragement this time. “Carla!”</p><p>“What?” she mumbles sleepily and with obvious annoyance.</p><p>“Something’s out there,” Samuel whispers between two fluttery intakes of breath.</p><p>Carla shifts onto her back and listens with furrowed brows. Nothing. Of course.</p><p>“This is not the time for jokes,” she groans and turns to face away from him, grabbing one of her many spare pillows and pushing it onto the side of her head.</p><p>Just seconds later, Samuel rips it away from her. “Listen!” he holds up his index, and indeed, there’s noise outside. It sounds like something is scratching the van’s roof, followed by a weird traipsing sound. Samuel almost forgets about his fright, staring at her triumphantly. But when Carla shrugs and cuddles back into her sheets again, the little smile on his lips dies away.</p><p>“Probably a squirrel or whatever.” She shrugs. “I mean what else should it be? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”</p><p>Samuel wants to scream. Because that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? They’re in the middle of<em> nowhere</em>, van standing in a parking lot of some more or less abandoned road between Milano and Rome. There’s not even a gas station where they are right now, only a small toilet house that looks like its going to collapse any second and some picnic tables. Oh, and a single streetlamp. Before you ask – <em>yes, </em>the shitty thing flickers every few seconds. Samuel noticed it as soon as they got out of the van to stretch their legs after they’d parked. And to make the setting perfect, there’s a small wooden cross next to the road right before the lot’s entrance, marking a deadly accident that must’ve taken place long ago.</p><p>So, it isn’t completely unreasonable he’s frightened now. Maybe the place is haunted, maybe the ghost of the accident victim roams the chapped asphalt at night, angry at anyone who’s privileged enough to be alive and able to drive a car over the road that’s been his death sentence back then.</p><p>“Samuel…” Carla glances at him with irritation. When had she turned on the small light? When did she prop up on her elbows next to him? And most importantly: Has he really said that <em>out loud?</em></p><p>Judging the look on her face, yes, he did.</p><p>“Okay, you know what?” She raises her brows at him while peeling out of the sheets. “I’ll take a look, tell you there’s no <em>ghost </em>outside, and then I’ll go back to sleep. Because that’s what people do at…,” she holds her phone into his face, “half past one in the morning.”</p><p>Samuel watches her with an open mouth as she climbs down from the bunk and slips into her flipflops and one of his hoodies.</p><p>“But you can’t just go out there now,” he protests and climbs down as well. “This,” he nods to the ceiling, “is far too loud to be squirrels.”</p><p>There’s a powerful rumble as if to prove his point, and Carla’s eyes widen just a tad. But she regains her calm composure quickly. Its something she’s good at, Samuel knows by now. Acting like she’s fine even when she isn’t, even when she’s <em>scared</em>. He hates when she does.</p><p>“Okay,” she crosses her arms. “Then you go.”</p><p>Samuel gulps, frozen in place. He really regrets waking her up now. Maybe he should’ve just ignored it and go back to sleep instead of waking her up.</p><p>When Carla reaches for the door handle impatiently, he switches out of his thoughts. He can’t let her go out there alone, no? Because even though they don’t pay attention to traditional gender roles in their relationship and he’s well aware of the fact that Carla’s the braver one, Samuel still feels the need to protect her. (Though he’d bet his right hand that it would be <em>her</em> who saved their asses if shit really went down.)</p><p>“Seriously?” Carla chuckles when Samuel grabs one of the kitchen knives after putting on a pair of shoes himself. Her hand’s still resting on the door handle, ready to pull it down and expose them to the darkness outside. “That won’t get you far if it’s a <em>ghost</em>, as you said.”</p><p>He comes to stand behind her and turns the knife in his hand. “Why? It looks sharp.”</p><p>“Because ghosts don’t have a body?” She says it as if he’s dumb. Sorry he’s no ghost-expert.</p><p>“Well, what do you recommend then, Dr. Venkman?”</p><p>She looks at him in confusion.</p><p>“Ghostbusters?” Samuel tilts his head expectantly.</p><p>“Never seen it.” Carla shrugs and ignores his disbelieving expression, facing the door in front of them with a determined stare. “And I’d recommend a salt circle.”</p><p>Now its Samuel turn to look confused, then he adds: “You need to stop watching those movies.”</p><p>“Well I’m not the one shitting my pants right now am I?” Carla offers him a tiny glare and then finally pulls the handle.</p><p>Its pitch-black outside. Not even the dumb lantern is flickering. So, the only source of light next to the van’s inside is the flashlight of Carla’s phone. She turns it experimentally, but there’s nothing to be seen. Just an empty parking lot.</p><p>There’s a slight tremor in Samuel’s legs when they step out the van.</p><p>“Can you stop breathing onto my neck please?”</p><p>Theoretically, Samuel could, but practically, he needs to be right behind her if anything happens. After all, he’s the one who’s got the weapon. (<em>The weapon, </em>oh god, how that sounds.)</p><p>Carla frees herself from his grip when she realizes he won’t let her go and walks around the van. There’s nothing. Just as she turns around with a <em>told you-</em>look on her face, something behind her moves.</p><p>Samuel immediately grabs her shoulder and pulls her into his chest.</p><p>“There was something behind you,” he whisper-screams, eyes searching the dark frantically.</p><p>They stand like this for a second, then jump in sync when there’s a dull noise again, just like the one’s they heard before. It sounds like something’s…on top of the van. Its not as loud as it was when they were inside, but the traipsing noise is unmistakable. Very slowly, Carla tilts her phone up to see whatever it is above their heads, the white-yellow cone of light moving up the van’s backside until it reaches the upper edge, and when it does, there are four luminous eyes staring right back at them. Four eyes, framed in masks of black fur, four eyes that look frightened and curious at the same time.</p><p>“Oh god,” Carla laughs with Samuel’s arm still tightly wrapped around her waist. His other arm, the one that’s been raised with the kitchen knife in defense, sinks down to his side as he lets out a shaky laugh himself.</p><p>“I told you that it was too loud for squirrels,” Samuel says knowingly when they crawl into their bunk just minutes later.</p><p>“You also said that it may be a ghost,” Carla shoots back amusedly while holding up the blanket for him. He willingly accepts the offer. A bit of cuddling is just what he needs after all the stress.</p><p>“Do you think they’ll come back?” he whispers into the dark then, his head resting on her chest.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Carla answers, words fading into a yawn. “I’m no racoon expert.”</p><p>“Right, I forgot. You’re only a ghost expert.”</p><p>“And you’re an expert in annoying me.”</p><p>“Hey…that one was mean,” Samuel complains quietly, but all he gets as an answer is a tired hum. He smiles to himself and hugs her tighter. He’s got no problem with being a softie when he’s got someone like her at his side.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Day Zero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is me dealing with the current lockdown and dreaming of a brighter future when everything will reopen again haha. </p><p>The prompt is "You're crushing me right now". I needed an eternity to think of a scenario but I kind of like how it turned out. Thanks anon for your suggestion! Have fun reading everyone :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After endless months of loneliness and boredom, the day has finally come. The day on which Saturday nights are no longer spent with virtual meetings and the online version of draw &amp; guess, on which sweatpants no longer serve as an appropriate clothing and “having cocktails” doesn’t mean forcing down crappy self-made drinks but having <em>actual</em> cocktails, mixed by an <em>actual</em> bartender.</p><p>Right. <em>Bartender</em>. They’re working again, slicing lemons and rattling their silver shakers as if nothing happened. As if there hasn’t been a worldwide pandemic for one and a half years now, forcing bars and clubs to close and robbing many people of their main weekend occupation: partying.</p><p>Samuel still can’t believe that he’s in an actual club right now. No face masks, no disinfectant, no distance. The only relict of a time when every cough was eyed with skepticism and sale numbers for hand sanitizers were on all time high are the plexiglass panes on top of the counter in front of him.</p><p>And even though he’s vaccinated and knows he’s safe and there’s no reason to be nervous, he can’t deny that he feels uncomfortable. Its probably not even because of the hygienic aspect, but more because the club in which his friends have dragged to him is filled to the bursting. Of course, the owner would let everyone in to make up for the major financial loss of the previous months, but the extend to which the place is crowded is actually insane.</p><p>It’s the first Saturday in 570 days that people can go out and party without having to fear any consequences, and literally every single person in Madrid is out on the streets. The relief that’s swinging through the city (and the whole country) is invigorating and disturbing at the same time. There’s a whole lot of energy, but there’s also a whole lot of nervousness. Its like someone hit a nest of hornets with a stick – people are swarming everywhere.</p><p>Under these circumstances, ordering himself a drink is quite a task for Samuel. After a solid fifteen minutes of being pushed around and trying to make room for people who head for the dancefloor with the drinks they just purchased, he only got one more person in front of him. He scans the blackboard on the wall to check if they’ve got anything better than the Gin Tonic he’s about to order, then decides that he’ll stick with his choice for now. No experiments on his first party night,. He’s pretty sure his alcohol tolerance is lower than ever before.</p><p>As the queue doesn’t move for several minutes, people begin to tense up. One of the barkeepers has disappeared, and the remaining two have a hard time keeping up with the orders. Samuel feels the heated chest of the guy behind him pressed against his back, and if it weren’t for the lack of space in front of him, he gladly would’ve avoided the unwanted body contact. He tries to himself as slim as possible, but even that doesn’t help. Its simply too crowded.</p><p>“Did you ever hear of the concept of personal space?"</p><p>The blonde in front of him catches Samuel off guard. She’s turned around annoyedly and looks at him with tight lips. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he answers and gestures behind him with his thumb. “They’re pushing me.”</p><p>The girl rolls her eyes and turns back to the counter. “Yeah, sure.”</p><p>It doesn’t take more than a minute for her to turn around again.</p><p>“Seriously, you’re crushing me right now.” The shifting illumination of the club’s lights reflects in her dark eyes. For a second, Samuel isn’t sure if they’re brown or green. When they begin to glisten angrily at his lack of answer, he knows it’s definitely green.</p><p>“I’m sorry but I can’t move.” He shrugs apologetically. It’s true. Bodies are pressed against him from every side, and the pressure on his back increases with every minute. So does his body heat. He only notices how dry his mouth is when he tries to swallow and fails for the lack of spit.</p><p>The blonde finally seems to understand (or simply gives up) and spares him another comment, instead focusing on getting the attention of one of the barkeepers again.</p><p>Samuel also tries to focus on something, <em>anything, </em>to keep the tight feeling in his throat and chest at bay. He doesn’t have an outright problem with crowds, but to say it leaves him unaffected would also be wrong.</p><p>His eyes land on the girl in front of him for three reasons: First, as soon as she orders, he can prepare for his own order. Second, he needs to pay attention to keep up the tiny bit of space between them; and third, the way her blonde hair falls onto her shoulders reminds him of a waterfall in the sun, and if that image isn't able to calm him down, nothing will.</p><p>Unfortunately, the picture is destroyed as she raises her arms and ties her hair into a tight bun. Samuel always has been fascinated with the ease at which girls handle their hair – his own isn’t even half as long but still leaves him desperate every morning.</p><p>The good thing about the girl's new hairstyle is that it reveals part of her neck, decorated with a fine silver necklace, and Samuel’s can’t help but think that her skin must be very, very soft. Look, he knows he’s being a creep, okay? He’s just trying not to faint here and now. </p><p>The cold liquid that’s splashed over his right shoulder the next second definitely helps with keeping his circulation going. On the other hand, his white tee is stained with beer now, plus the guy who got pushed as he tried to get to the dancefloor is left with an empty glass. Just as Samuel wipes his shoulder and mumbles something about it being <em>no problem</em>, the fierce blonde in front of him cuts in. This time, her anger isn’t directed at Samuel, but the people who caused the guy to stumble. He has no idea how she grasped the situation this fast. She must be a good observer.</p><p>“Can you stop pushing for fuck’s sake? The queue won’t move faster when you’re being assholes, fucking shit.”</p><p>Samuel chuckles at her outburst, but at the same time admires her for it. Because people seem to actually take her serious, which is quite an achievement when you’re surrounded by drunks who only want to party. He kind of wants to tell her that this was cool, but quickly discards the idea. Turns out he wouldn’t have the chance to tell her even if he wanted to, because before he knows it, she’s making her way through the crowd and towards the exit.</p><p>“Hey!” Samuel calls after her when she walks away from the wardrobe, slipping into her jacket. He doesn’t even know when he made the decision to give up his hard-won spot in the queue and search for her instead, only thing he <em>does </em>know is that he can’t just let her disappear into the night like this.</p><p>She turns her head when he catches up with her long strides. She doesn’t even look surprised. The thought that she’s probably used to guys running after her instantly discourages him.</p><p>“What?” She finally slows her steps when they reach the door.</p><p>“I just wanted to thank you.”</p><p>“For?” She tilts her head with a stern expression.</p><p>“For…,” Samuel gestures back to the crowd and rubs his neck. “For speaking up. It was pretty cool.”</p><p>A small wrinkle appears on the right corner of her mouth. “Really? Most guys would tell me that it isn’t proper for a lady to swear like a sailor.”</p><p>He bursts out a short laugh but quickly stifles it. He knows he’s supposed to answer now, but there’s a good ten seconds of silence before he finds the right words. “Where are you going?”</p><p>Nevermind. There’s a good ten seconds of silence before he finds <em>words. </em>Because he’s sure that asking her <em>where she’s going</em> comes off nothing but invasive right now. Those aren’t the right words.</p><p>“Home,” she answers. But contrary to Samuel’s expectation, she doesn’t turn around and leaves him standing there. Instead, she <em>waits. </em></p><p>Okay, he’s got a new chance to find the right words. The thing is that he doesn’t want to come off as that desperate guy who thinks they’re buddies for the night just because they stood in line together and she kind of defended him against some strangers. He wants to come off chill. That’s what girls like, no? Chill dudes. </p><p>“Cool, I was just on my way home, too.” He nods as if to convince himself of his words. “Its so crowded here and…” he sighs and makes a gesture he’s sure looks weird, “one isn’t used to being surrounded by so many people these days, huh? And the music, so loud and…”</p><p>She nods politely. Politeness isn’t quite the reaction he wanted. Shit. Maybe be more direct? He takes a deep breath. Be chill. <em>Not </em>desperate.</p><p>“Okay, I’m being honest with you. I, uhm – my, my flirting skills may be a bit rusty – or people skills in general. I mean we were pretty isolated for one and a half years now, and I told myself its like riding a bike but I may have underestimated the whole thing and – well, I don’t want you to think I’m a desperate creep who thinks we’re buddies for the night just because we stood in line together and you kind of defended me against some strangers, but do you want to, I don’t know, go to a place less crowded?”</p><p>She covers her mouth as she chuckles. “Yeah, that’s why I’m going home.”</p><p>“But you can’t just spend this monumental night <em>at home</em>. What about a bar? I’ll get you whatever it was that you would’ve ordered here.”</p><p>Wow, what a turn of events. Samuel managed three proper sentences, and they’re not even that bad. Or?</p><p>--</p><p>“Two Gin…” Samuel glances at the girl next to him. Her name’s Carla, he knows now.</p><p>“Basil smash,” she completes his sentence. The barkeeper nods and turns around to smash some Basil.</p><p>The bar they went to is only minutes away from the club they met in, and while the streets were nearly as crowded as the club itself, this place is pleasantly empty – meaning there’s only about every second table taken, and there’s no one sitting next to them on the high stools at the counter. And as a side effect, its much quieter in here, lights dim and warm and steady instead of ticking in a nervous staccato rhythm capable of triggering epileptic seizures. The club’s inside was definitely overstimulating considering Samuel spent his most time at home for the past one and a half years.</p><p>He’s just about to start some small talk when Carla's phone rings. She takes it out and makes an excusing gesture. Samuel nods and assures her that its no problem.</p><p>“Hi…at a bar,” Carla speaks into her phone, giving Samuel a funny look. It seems to be nothing serious. Good. The worst thing to possibly happen is that she needs to go all of sudden for whatever reasons (or that she told a friend to call her and free her from her date, a cruel dating tactic Samuel heard of).</p><p>“I’m fine, Lu.” She rolls her eyes lightheartedly, then eyes Samuel up and down. “I’ll immediately call you if I notice something strange…no, he doesn’t seem weird…he’s twenty-two”, Carla looks at Samuel for confirmation, “and attends uni here in Madrid. Says he’s got rusty people skills, but apart from that, he seems fine.”</p><p>A sheepish smile creeps onto Samuel’s face while he takes his first sip off the fresh drink in front of him. His eyes tick over to Carla and he finds her smiling back at him. Then she ends the call.</p><p>“Sorry. I texted my friend that I left and of course she needed to check on me. She’s still in the club.” Carla takes a sip of her own drink, making Samuel’s eyes flicker to where her lips gently close around the black straw. “She told me you might be a sociopath for having <em>rusty people skills</em>.”</p><p>“At least I don’t scream at strangers in clubs,” Samuel counters. That’s smooth, isn’t it? He’s not <em>that </em>rusty. “Maybe I’m the one in danger here, you could be dealing with aggression issues or an impulse control disorder…”</p><p>Carla gasps and playfully hits his shoulder.</p><p>Samuel laughs. “See? Aggression issues, definitely.”</p><p>They’re giggling loudly when they stumble upon the sidewalk two hours later. They didn’t even have that much to drink, though. Its rather each other’s company that exhilarates them, jokes and teasing and flirting spicing up their moods.</p><p>“Okay, I may have aggression issues,” Carla holds up her index knowingly while they meander through the streets, not paying any attention to all the people around them. “But the biggest psycho in the room was still that guy solving Sudoku while ordering one Peppermint Hot Chocolate after another.”</p><p>Samuel nods extensively. “Don’t forget the hat he wore. I’m pretty sure he was a private investigator or something.”</p><p>“Or a spy.” Carla shrugs, then adds with a deep voice: “One Mint Hot Chocolate please. Shaken, not stirred.”</p><p>They burst into another fit of laughter and Samuel completely misses that they’re about to cross a road. If it weren’t for the small hand around his bicep, he would’ve stumbled upon the asphalt despite the red traffic light in front of them.</p><p>“Woah, Samuel!” Carla breathes with wide eyes. “Careful there.”</p><p>The cautious look on his face is a clear sign that he’s instantly sobered up from their high-strung laughter, but nonetheless, the blonde doesn’t let go of him. A shiver runs down his spine when her hand slides down his arm und finds his hand. He loosens it to entwine fingers with her, and there’s a second shiver whacking his body when she complies without hesitation and subsequently tightens her grip around his palm.</p><p>They end up in front of the house where her apartment’s located. A fine quarter close to the city’s center, modern and quiet and neat.</p><p>“I really had fun tonight,” Samuel smiles, not ready to let go of her hand yet. “We could do this again sometime, if you’d like to.”</p><p>Carla nods and stares down at their hands. Its quiet for a moment, and Samuel feels his palm dampening. Suddenly, her shoulders straighten up.</p><p>“I think I don’t want this monumental night to end yet.” A smirk disrupts her calm mimic. He knows its probably exaggerating, but that look is already weirdly familiar to Samuel. It’s the one she wore for half of the night already. “You want to join me on a hot chocolate? But without mint.”</p><p>Samuel’s a little lost for words when they enter her apartment. Its big and everything looks crazy expensive. They get rid off their shoes and jackets and she offers him a seat on her couch. Contrary to his expectation, she takes place next to him.</p><p>He nearly doesn’t dare to ask. Nearly. “What about the hot chocolate?”</p><p>Carla snorts a laugh. “What? You really want one now?”</p><p>Samuel nods at her, a little bewildered. Did he say something wrong?</p><p>“Okay.” She shakes her head, still beaming. But before she gets up, she places a kiss onto Samuel’s rosy cheek. It doesn’t last more than a second, but the gently touch of her lips is still enough to make his guts twist in happy excitement.</p><p>She’s just about to disappear into the kitchen when Samuel calls after her. “Oh wait, one thing!”</p><p>Carla turns around with a smile, hand on the white doorframe, the hair she’s freed from its tight bun falling onto her shoulders again.</p><p>“I’ll take it shaken, not stirred.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Last minute</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again, hope you're all doing fine :) This chapter is a missing scene of S3 (or as my brain would say: this is canon). The prompt is “Just let me see him one last time. Please.”, requested by ang-26. Have fun reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It still feels unreal. Even when Carla takes place in the backseat of her father’s car, only centimeters away from her gigantic suitcases that are stuffed into the trunk. Even when she looks down and touches the smooth brown material of her passport, even when she takes her flight ticket out and examines it again. Madrid-Barajas International Airport – London Heathrow.</p>
<p>In a few hours, she’ll be in her new hometown. Far away from everything. Her school, her former friends, her family. Far away from horrible memories and traumatic experiences, from a gravestone which’s bouquets slowly begin to wither, and far away from the constant fear of a police inspector knocking on her door one day with the determination to reopen the case of a mysterious nightclub-death.</p>
<p>Carla should be thankful for her fate’s generosity. To be involved in a case of murder and getting away with it is one thing. To be involved in <em>two </em>cases of murder and getting away with it is something entirely different. In conclusion, leaving the country for good is the only logical solution for Carla. Getting away as fast as she can as long as she’s still able to. She can’t afford any more unnecessary risks. That’s what her brain tells her, at least.</p>
<p>Her heart – well. Its pounding in her chest in vehement protest, slamming against her ribcage so hard her whole left side aches. She tries to fight the movement by puffing up her lungs with deep breaths as if the big organ was able to calm the smaller nervous one, but her tactic doesn’t really work.</p>
<p>“How are you feeling?” Her mother turns around in the passenger seat. “Already nervous?”</p>
<p>Carla gives her a reluctant smile. Her mother’s warm expression will never be the same to her after what happened just a few weeks ago. She’ll never be able to trust her the way she did before, hell, sometimes she feels like she’ll never be able to trust <em>anyone </em>ever again.</p>
<p>Her father slows the car to halt at a traffic light, and it’s the first time Carla really looks out of the window instead of simply staring outside without any focus. When she spots a familiar kiosk at a street corner, she immediately regrets it. Her gaze quickly flickers down to her hands, but her heart is already raging in her chest.</p>
<p>“Can you pull over?” she suddenly blurts.</p>
<p>Her father’s eyes flicker to the rearview mirror in silent question. Her mother turns around again, looking kind of worried.</p>
<p>“Why? Did you forget something, darling?” she asks.</p>
<p><em>Not directly</em>, Carla thinks. It’s not that the thought that caused her to speak up hasn’t occurred to her before. She just managed to push it away until now.</p>
<p>The traffic light switches to green and the car starts moving again. Her mother’s still staring at her.</p>
<p>“No…I mean yes. I – I…can you just pull over please?” Her voice begins to get dangerously squeaky. Now’s not the time for mental breakdowns. Not yet.</p>
<p>Her parents exchange looks. It hasn’t escaped them where they are right now, whose house it is that’s only five hundred meters away.</p>
<p>“We’ll be late,” her mother announces. “You can’t risk missing your flight.”</p>
<p>Bullshit. First, they’re not even late, they’re rather too early. Second, even if she missed her flight, she could just take the next one. It’s not like they couldn’t afford it.</p>
<p>“It won’t take long,” Carla argues pleadingly. She feels like a child asking her parents to make a stop at McDonald’s on their way home. She even leans forward like a desperate nine-year old in her stupid backseat place.</p>
<p>There are hot tears welling up in her eyes when her protest is met with silence. With every meter they drive, the lump in her throat gets bigger, swells like a giant bubble, until it suddenly bursts and releases a hasty torrent of words.</p>
<p>“Just let me see him one more time,” Carla says with a tumbling voice, her right hand tightly clasped around her seatbelt, the other one already in position to open the fastener. “<em>Please</em>.”</p>
<p>Its most likely the heart-wrenching crack in her voice that makes her mother sigh in defeat.</p>
<p>“Pull over.” She nods at her husband with a blank face. Then, with the same expression, looks at her daughter. “Now hurry up.”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>In her entire life, Carla never hurried up quite like she does in that moment. She’s out on the pavement in seconds, her smalls heels clicking with every step as she scurries to Samuel’s house. Getting there feels like an eternity when in reality it can’t be more than five or six minutes, and when she’s finally at his door and rings his bell, it feels like a second eternity until the door buzzes and she’s allowed into the staircase.</p>
<p>But as soon as she’s inside, a wave of insecurity comes crashing down on her. What is she doing here? What does she even want to tell him? To be fair, she didn’t think she’d get this far in the first place, that her parents actually let her out of the car. For once, they respected her needs instead of ignoring them, a feeling so entirely new it leaves her in utter confusion, which doesn’t make the situation much easier. What also doesn’t make it easier is the sound of a door being opened a few floors above her, followed by a questioning <em>hello</em> being shouted into the musty air of the wooden staircase. Contrary to the instinct telling her to just turn around and run out of the house again, Carla begins to hurry up the stairs while gripping to the railing to steady herself. Normally, she wouldn’t touch it for the world – the thought of dozens of hands using it every day disgusts her to the maximum – but her steps are uncoordinated and her mind is racing, and breaking her shin because of falling up the stairs is the last thing she needs right now.</p>
<p>The door is closed again when she finally reaches the floor of Samuel’s apartment. Theoretically, this would give her the chance to calm her breath and regain some composure, but practically, her hand’s knocking on the hard surface as soon as its in her reach.</p>
<p>“What the he–,” Samuel stops dead in his tracks as he opens the door. He skims her completely perplexed.</p>
<p>“What do you want?”</p>
<p>Its not only the words themselves leaving Carla speechless, more so, it’s the insecure waver in his voice. She’s so dumb. What did she expect? Him falling right into her arms without further question? Its Samuel, for god’s sake. Of course, he’d have questions. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have answers.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I –,” she swallows thickly. “I shouldn’t have come. Just – forget that I was here, okay? I – this was a mistake. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>She turns around again before she knows it, avoiding him to see the red creeping into her cheeks. Such things as blushing never exactly belonged into her repertoire of reactions, but as the last weeks showed, she continually lost control of everything she always claimed to be. Being in charge of her cheek’s color was only one thing from that list. What she also seemed to have lost is her ability to stay levelheaded in stressful situations. It doesn’t take much to push her onto the edge nowadays.</p>
<p>“I was about to text you!” Samuel suddenly calls out when her feet reach the stairs. Her hand already on the railing, Carla turns around with wide eyes.</p>
<p>“But then I…didn’t,” he adds quietly.</p>
<p>With slow steps, Carla reapproaches him. “And what were you about to say?”  </p>
<p>“That I already miss you.”</p>
<p>It doesn’t make sense to her. Because he shouldn’t <em>miss </em>her, of all things. Not when he has every right to be angry, or at least hurt and confused. He still has no idea what was going on with her the last months, and yet he <em>misses</em> her? Wild.</p>
<p>The insecure look on his face signals Carla that she should probably say something, not stare at him with furrowed brows after she instinctively backed off and widened the distance between them yet again.</p>
<p>“I…uh…was afraid of scaring you off,” Samuel scratches his neck when realizing he isn’t met with an answer. “That’s why I didn’t send it. And because it’ll probably be easier this way –“</p>
<p>“I don’t want easy.” It’s barely a whisper, but it is enough to make Samuel stop talking and stare down to where a slender hand slides into his in a comforting grasp.</p>
<p>Remember Carla talking about eternities when making her way to Samuel’s apartment? Well, the seconds he takes to entwine their fingers and lock eyes with her feel like the third eternity that day. But he does eventually, looks at her with that intense-broody stare of his, silently telling what he already proved along the way: that he doesn’t want easy, too. And that he’s far too stubborn to let go of whatever it was that began to grow between them.</p>
<p>And as much as she wants this moment to last forever, feeling so relieved to be allowed close to him again, to hold his hand and bluntly stare into his big eyes without having to be afraid of someone seeing them, she knows she has to get back to reality now. <em>They</em> have to get back to reality.</p>
<p>“I don’t have much time. I’m actually on my way to the airport right now. I just wanted to see you one last time and…and say goodbye.”</p>
<p>A single tear escapes her right eye and she hastily rubs it away with her free hand, sniffling a quiet <em>sorry</em>, even though she knows very well that there’s no need to excuse for showing emotions when being with Samuel. Not that she’s able to hide them, anyway; he always makes her feel <em>so </em>much. Sometimes it even becomes too much, but he wouldn’t be Samuel if he didn’t sense her struggle and subsequently draw her into a tight hug. Carla tries her best to relax within his arms – tight, long hugs aren’t her specialty – and silently tells herself to loosen the long build-up tension in her shoulder blades. What gives her a bit of reassurance is that Samuel seems to struggle too, judging by the shaky breaths he exhales into her neck. Feeling things can be quite hard, especially when said thing is love, or at least something close to that.</p>
<p><em>Okay, something very close</em>, Carla realizes when Samuel turns his head and nudges his warm lips against hers and there are weird tingles all throughout her body. She wants to giggle, not only for the funny feeling, but also for how passionate he kisses her. He’s always so intense, and it makes her dizzy and amused at the same time.</p>
<p>“You taste like tomato sauce,” is what her overstimulated brain spits out against his lips the next second, and though its probably the dumbest thing to say right now, he still chuckles.</p>
<p>“You interrupted me during lunchtime, did you really expect me to eat anything else than macaroni?”</p>
<p>And now, she can’t fight a short giggle to escape against his lips while she shakes her head. “Not really. Will you give me the recipe so that I can cook it in London? And maybe finally find out what’s wrong with the sauce?”</p>
<p>Samuel pinches her side with a cocky grin, then turns them around until her back hits the doorframe. They’re still out in the hallway, and the way they’re pressed against each other is on the verge of appropriateness, but luckily its quiet and none of his neighbors have seen them yet. And even if, they probably wouldn’t give a shit about it.</p>
<p>“I won’t, not as long as you’re such a tease.”</p>
<p>“I can be a good girl too if you want,” Carla murmurs with a promising glance. The words haven’t fully left her mouth when Samuel’s lips are pressed to hers again, even needier than before.</p>
<p>“I said no teasing,” he breathes into her ear. The frustration in his voice turns her massively on, but she can also relate to it. They can’t do this here, and they can’t do this now. Even if she was the one to start this, she knows she has to be reasonable now.</p>
<p>“I need to go or else I’ll miss my flight.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Samuel nods, seemingly all cleared from the prior sexual tension. “I don’t want to be the one to stop you.”</p>
<p>“I know you don’t,” Carla smiles and strokes his cheek softly. She thinks about her next words for a second, then says: “You can visit me if you want. I mean only if you have time and…I can pay for the flight tickets, of course. It’ll be no problem. Maybe in a month. Or in two?”</p>
<p>He nods slowly, probably still figuring out what the nervous undertone in her voice means. It certainly doesn’t mean she isn’t sure about their whole thing, it means she isn’t sure if <em>he’s </em>sure about it. But if he already misses her that means he –</p>
<p>“Sounds great. I’ve never been to London before. I’ll look up my work schedule and text you about the dates, okay?”</p>
<p>Carla’s eyes fall close in relief for a second. When she opens them, they’re glistening again. But this time, with happiness. “Yeah, we’ll do it like that.”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“What do you have there?” Her mother immediately asks after Carla got into the car again, with a sweaty upper lip and a pounding heart. She nearly sprinted the way back to not piss her parents off more than absolutely necessary. She doesn’t owe them anything or so, but she surely had enough of fighting for now.</p>
<p>Though she quickly rolled the folded piece of clothing together to fit it into her bag, it didn’t escape her mother’s Argus eyes.</p>
<p>“It’s a shirt,” Carla answers, simultaneously watching her father’s knuckles turn white around the steering wheel.</p>
<p>Her parents both remain silent for the rest of the ride. The tension drains her so much that Carla feels not a hint of melancholy when she swaps the car for an airplane within the next hour, where she’s alone between dozens of strangers and no one judges her. Well, no one except for the lady dressed in Chanel from head to toe in the first-class booth beside her, who side-eyes Carla skeptically when she pulls a cheap and overworn dark-blue shirt over her head, and then smooths the fabric with a satisfied sigh.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. I'll most likely be remembered as...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey there :) I hope you're doing fine. I'm back with my very own version of S3 because I've been in the mood for fluff with a good portion of angst lately and there's nothing scarier than S3 lool. And this was lowkey inspired by the beginning of "The girl next door", its my favorite teen movie and I had this idea when I rewatched it back in December (time really flies)</p><p>Oh and I wanted to excuse to everyone who still waits for their prompts, your requests are all great and I have some ideas already but I need that extra portion of inspiration to actually begin working on something and I don't want to force anything. Just know I haven't forgotten you and I'll really try to post a prompt request in the next chapter! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It isn’t the first time Carla feels disconnected from everyone around her, feels like her experiences are galaxies away from what all the other people at her school go through, but it’s the first time she becomes aware just <em>how much</em> her last years of school differ from everyone else’s.</p><p>Her gaze falls back onto her laptop screen after absentmindedly wandering the cafeteria, taking in the loud and vibrant crowd around her. Somewhere next to her chairs rattle over the floor, followed by the sound of clattering plates, squeaking cutlery and cackling voices. She clenches her jaw without looking up, just thinks how bold those people are, disrupting her peace by settling less than ten meters away from where she sits in the very corner of the room. She could just pack her things and move to the library, of course, if it weren’t for that stupid big clock whose constant ticking nearly drives her insane every time. What also drives her insane in there is how everyone attempts to be quiet when in reality they’re not. If there’s anything more annoying than talking, its whispering; the same goes for chewing. Last time, she was on the verge of screaming at this stupid eight-grader for quietly munching a Snickers right next to her. Judging by how thin her nerves are today, its better for everyone if she stays in her current seat.</p><p>She huffs a breath and tries to gather what’s left of her ability to concentrate onto the task sitting in front of her. Where was she? Ah, right. Her page for the yearbook.</p><p>
  <em>Name: Carla Rosón Caleruega</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m also known as…</em>
</p><p>That’s an easy one. She types her nickname into the document - <em>La Marquesita – </em>and moves on to the next line.</p><p>
  <em>I will most likely be remembered as…</em>
</p><p>The thought hits her like a lightning. <em>The girl who hid her childhood best friend’s murder.</em> Carla quickly tries to think of something different, but she isn’t able to shake her prior thought off.  She has no other answer. Disturbing. She decides to skip the question and moves onto the next with a tight feeling in her throat.</p><p>
  <em>Which one memory will you remember forever about your time here? </em>
</p><p>Fucking seriously? Who on earth decided that this was a good question? The answer is simple: someone who hasn’t been caught up in the traumatizing murder drama going on in her class. But Carla still thinks that whoever’s sitting in the yearbook committee could’ve been a bit more decent. Its not like the whole thing went particularly unnoticed by the other students. Or is this just another proof for how distorted her perception has become? Sometimes Carla forgets that school doesn’t mean living hell for everyone. </p><p>Nevertheless, she decides to skip this question too. They can’t all be like this, right? And the next one seems quite easy:</p><p>
  <em>What was usually the first thought in your head when you woke up on a school day? </em>
</p><p><em>Fuck no, not again. </em>Carla chuckles as she types the words. Maybe sarcasm helps her deal with this. And to be honest, this is the truth. Not that she cares much about writing the truth, she’s sure she’s already labelled as a notoriously lying and manipulative bitch anyway. Gone are the days where everyone admired her for her noble family status and the grace with which she walked the halls. These days, she sneaks around as quietly and inconspicuously as possible, trying to avoid any form of social interaction, eye contact inclusive.</p><p>She moves onto the next question – and okay, this is simply mockery, right?</p><p>
  <em>Describe your last year of school in three words: </em>
</p><p>She types her answer aggressively, fingers flying over the keyboard: <em>horrendous, fucked-up, depressing.</em></p><p>Originally, she chose this task to distract herself from the fact she’s got no idea how to do her biology homework (or math, or chemisty, or literally any other subject because she hasn’t paid attention to class in forever), but instead of making her feel better, it makes her feel considerably worse. And she hasn’t even answered the last question.</p><p>
  <em>Where do you see yourself in ten years? </em>
</p><p>The first thing coming to her mind is <em>nowhere. </em>It doesn’t come like a lightning, though. The realization is far slower, but no less daunting. She really doesn’t see herself anywhere. Not taking over her parents’ wineries, not living in a mansion with Yeray, not meeting Lu over a bunch of mimosas for brunch.</p><p>If it weren’t for the familiar voice entering the cafeteria in that moment, she’d probably become inconsolably sad at her latest discovery: that when school is over, she’ll be infinitely more lost than she is now. But the lively voice gets closer, and it reminds her of another thing that’s been on her schedule for today. The hundred euro bill already sits in her pencil case, waiting to be exchanged for something far more thrilling than money. A smirk emits around the corners of her mouth as she answers the last question with a final touch of sarcasm:</p><p>
  <em>In a rehab clinic.</em>
</p><p>--</p><p>She’s back in her place the following week (yes, the lonely table in the corner of the cafeteria became <em>her place </em>by now, the greatest achievement of her school year so far – but still a hundred times better than sitting in between Yeray’s douchy friends whenever their break matches), and so far, its pleasantly quiet around her. Most of her classmates enjoy the spring breeze outside, but the sun is far too bright for her tired eyes and she hasn’t got her sunglasses with her. On top of that, she explicitly chooses to be wherever her classmates <em>don’t </em>are whenever its possible.</p><p>“Is this one still free?”</p><p>Carla looks up from her laptop screen in surprise. And her gaze immediately hardens when she spots the owner of the voice.</p><p>“It is, just like every other chair in here.”</p><p>“Okay, thanks,” Samuel sits down across from her, acting completely unimpressed.</p><p>“That means I don’t want you to sit here,” Carla says quietly, but no less harsh. She focuses on her screen and does some meaningless clicks to seem busy. In truth she just needs something to distract her from his presence. They haven’t been alone in ages. Okay, they aren’t completely alone. But among the few other students sitting in the cafeteria, there’s no one around whom they know.</p><p>Samuel doesn’t answer, and she hears him open a book. Unfortunately, he’s hidden behind her screen, and she sure as hell won’t take a look at what he’s doing. But…she’d still like to <em>know</em> what he’s doing, okay? Is he staring at the back of her laptop right now? Is he contemplating about saying another stupid thing that she can backfire at him?</p><p>About twenty minutes later, Carla isn’t really sure Samuel’s still there, that’s how quiet he is. She hasn’t even heard him turn a page, let alone tap his leg like she knows he does when he’s concentrated or nervous. Just when she’s about to peak over her screen, she hears the legs of his chair scratch over the ground. She quickly ducks down again, either parts disappointed and relieved he’s leaving.</p><p>The thing is that he doesn’t stand up to leave, but instead settles down in the seat next to her, spreading his book and papers over the tabletop. “The sun blinded me,” is the only comment he makes. Its only then that Carla sees the reason for why he’s been so quiet: the paper that’s obviously supposed to be for notes is covered in various, black-inked doodles.</p><p>Carla can’t help but chuckle. “And I thought I was bad at chemistry,” she nods at the book in front of him, untouched.</p><p>Samuel’s head immediately shoots up from his masterpiece, as if he can’t believe she’s actually talking to him. He seems really happy for a moment, and then Carla can see the change in his features as he obviously thinks of a cool comeback. She finds it pretty cute.</p><p>Being the boy he is, he doesn’t come up with a cool comeback. Instead, he babbles: “I already did the homework yesterday.”</p><p>Carla raises her brows, and Samuel must instantly know what she’s thinking. He tries to correct himself, but it isn’t much of a help when he explains that he wanted to prepare for finals by doing some extra-reading. The book was only a cover up for the fact he came to sit here with the sole purpose of being close to her. How cheesy.</p><p>The break is over just minutes after their encounter. They haven’t exchanged any more words, but when Carla stands up to head to class, she gives him a little nod. “See you tomorrow.”</p><p>--</p><p>Two days later, it happens again. Carla’s in the middle of enjoying her Yeray-free lunchbreak that she happens to have every Tuesday and Thursday due to an extra course he took in IT when she spots a familiar figure walking towards her. She isn’t as surprised to find Samuel taking a seat next to her as the first time, but his presence still makes her nervous.</p><p>She quickly focuses onto her laptop after a tiny glance to her right, answering his quiet <em>hi </em>with a hesitant <em>hello. </em></p><p>In the next thirty minutes, Samuel doesn’t even try to talk to her, just sits there in front of what she identifies as his essay for literature, occasionally chewing his bottom lip or letting out strained sighs. All the while Carla is occupied with some genetics task about the prevalence of color blindness, desperately switching between her Word document and the PDF-text in which she hopes to find answers.</p><p>Carla can’t help but think how pleasant it is to sit there with him, both in their own little world but still aware of the other’s every move, no matter how small it might be. It isn’t long until the nagging voice in the back of her head reminds her that she shouldn’t get too used to being around Samuel, that their encounters come with a time limit, and worse, with a risk for him that she can’t ignore.</p><p>Samuel must’ve noticed the way she grinded her teeth, because the next thing she sees is a pack of gum in front of her nose.</p><p>“Want one?”</p><p>She turns her head, slightly perplexed, and it’s the first time their eyes really meet since he sat down. His gaze is warm, kind of consoling, even, and the smile playing around his lips nothing but sympathetic. She has no other choice than to nod and hold her hand out, absentmindedly commenting on how gum is actually forbidden at Las Encinas. Of course, no one pays attention to that rule, and the irony of being worried about gum while having a pack of Molly in her purse doesn’t escape her. She lets out a quiet chuckle.</p><p>“What?” Samuel asks, voice light as notices her reaction.</p><p>“Nothing, I just realized something,” she shakes her head as a wave of sadness sweeps over her features.</p><p>Contrary to her expectation, Samuel doesn’t begin to nag or get pushy, only nods and turns back to his essay.</p><p>--</p><p>When she enters the cafeteria the following Tuesday, Carla instantly stops in her tracks. Her table is taken. Not by anyone, but by Samuel. And he’s already looking at her. <em>Waiting.</em> For a split second, Carla considers just choosing another table, but then she doesn’t have the heart to do so. She may be consequent, but she isn’t <em>that</em> consequent. On top of that, she has to defend her territory, no?</p><p>She approaches the table with slow, big strides; her laptop case clutched in front of her chest. Samuel’s hunched over the table, acting like he hasn’t straight up stared at her for a good five seconds when she walked towards him.</p><p>Carla clears her throat and grabs the back of the chair next to him. “Is this one still free?”</p><p>“It is, just like every other chair in here.”</p><p>She smirks. There’s no way he hasn’t planned this. “Okay, thanks,” she answers, just as unimpressed as he did a few days ago. Unlike her, Samuel makes no comment about how he doesn’t want her to sit there.</p><p>--</p><p>Their joint lunch breaks quickly become their little ritual. Every Tuesday and every Thursday, they meet at Carla’s table and work on their essays, tasks and presentations side by side. One could get the impression those two were extraordinary hard-working students, spending their break studying instead of lounging in the sunshine with everyone else; but in reality the lunch breaks are the only times they ever focusedly work. Because Samuel works at the restaurant nearly every afternoon, and Carla mostly uses the short time she has between school and meeting Yeray in the evening for naps. Her sleeping schedule is catastrophic (just as everything else lately), and coming home from an exhausting school day is the only time she really gets to rest. Because the almost daily meet-ups with her boyfriend need a special kind of preparation, one that keeps her up all night, even when her duty is done and he’s fast asleep next to her. And before she knows it, another night of staring into the black void that is his bedroom has passed and she needs to get up again without one second of sleep.</p><p>Over time, the sleep deprivation leaves noticeable traces in her appearance. Purple bruises under her eyes that even the best concealer isn’t able to cover, hunched, tense shoulders and grey looking skin, to only list a few. She’s not even able to dress properly, her school uniform covers her pale skin lovelessly, the small bowties or gold pins she used to decorate her outfit with slowly gathering dust in her closet.</p><p>Of course, Samuel notices the change, too. She sees it in the way he looks at her, the way the frown on his forehead gets gradually deeper and his eyes fill with more and more worry every time they meet. She knew he’d mention it sooner or later; she’s actually surprised they’ve been spending their breaks together for almost a month now without him addressing the obvious. He’s not dumb though, and probably knows that she’ll fight him as soon as he says something.</p><p>“Everything alright?” Samuel asks while sitting down. It became his usual greeting by now, another indication of his growing sorrows. Carla presses her lips together in the best smile she can offer after two hours of sleep and a incredibly boring politics lesson, emphasizing that she’s fine and asking him the same in an attempt of distraction.</p><p>“Hm, just a bit tired,” Samuel answers and – as if to prove – yawns. “Sorry.”</p><p>Carla eyes him amusedly, not only because he really doesn’t have to excuse for yawning, but because he actually looks kind of cute when he’s lacking sleep. His eyes are small and hair messy, as if he slept through his alarm and didn’t have enough time to style it properly. She, in contrast, looks like she just came back from the dead, eyes large and bloodshot, hair dull and lacking the usual shine.</p><p>Until now, Carla thought that today’s break would go just like the others: they exchange a few meaningless words (that actually hold a whole lot of meaning which neither of them wants to admit), then occupy themselves with schoolwork, only to part ways an hour later with a thousand unspoken things between them. But Samuel doesn’t pull his laptop or a stack of notes out of his bag today. Instead, he places a small blue box onto the tabletop. Carla studies it curiously, then can’t hide a chuckle when he opens it and reveals a sliced apple. Does he really wake up early to slice himself an apple every morning? Who eats sliced apples after preschool age anyway? If it weren’t for his expectant expression, her sleep-deprived brain wouldn’t have solved the mystery. But the look in his eyes can only mean –</p><p>“Thank you,” she hesitantly takes a slice. The sweet and sour juice makes her jaw cramp for a second, tastebuds overwhelmed with the freshness.</p><p>“You never eat in your break,” Samuel remarks with forced casualty, though Carla knows he must feel smug about his tactic working. But what can she say, he’s right.</p><p>“You’re not better,” she answers, halfway through her second slice of apple. Its only then that Carla realizes he hasn’t brought his stupid noodles with him just once, which is fairly unusual considering its all he ate last school year. Things must be rough for him, too.</p><p>“That’s why I start today,” Samuel munches a piece of apple himself now, a tiny drop of juice spilling into the corner of his mouth. Carla can’t help but lick her lips at the sight, secretly wishing it were his.</p><p>--</p><p>Though Carla hasn’t thought Samuel as a culinary genius until now, she must admit that he’s an expert when it comes to snacks. Throughout the next weeks, there’s nothing his small blue box doesn’t have to offer – from sliced fruits over various berries, nuts and cereal bars to cheese cubes with grapes or American cookies.</p><p>Its absolutely ridiculous how creative he gets when it comes to it, even as if he’s made it into his new mission to tickle a smile out of her with his ideas. At the same time, he’s <em>so </em>attentive. About two weeks ago, he brought a nut mix which Carla greedily ate except for the raisins – she believes grapes should only be consumed in two forms: their original state and wine – and when she finds the same mix again today, just <em>without </em>the raisins, her eyes get teary for a second. Why is she stuck with someone who can’t even remember the most basic things about her when there’s another guy standing in his kitchen at seven in the morning to sort out raisins from a nut mix? At this point, staying away from him is even more torturing than it already is.</p><p>“Is something wrong?”</p><p>“No,” Carla shakes her head and drags her lips into a smile. <em>There’s nothing wrong, at least not with him. Actually, being with him feels simply too right. </em></p><p>--</p><p>Of course, spending their breaks together two times a week doesn’t go completely unnoticed by their classmates. There are days on which it rains and the cafeteria is really crowded, on which Yeray’s IT-teacher is sick and Carla’s damned to spend her break with him, or on which Rebeka shows up out of god-knows-where and sits with them. Carla has never asked herself how <em>she </em>spends her breaks, just happily accepted that she wasn’t around to claim Samuel’s time. A good portion of guilt is also involved whenever she thinks of the girl, because even though they technically aren’t cheating on their partners, it is obvious that there is <em>something</em> going on between Samuel and her. She names it <em>emotional cheating</em> after all, a phenomenon which comes in the form of stolen glances, secret smiles and inside jokes. Oh, and shared food.</p><p>Despite the unfavorable circumstances (that are her life in general and the fact that she’s an <em>emotional cheater</em>), the little time she spends with Samuel leaves her with a liberated feeling every time, lasting at least for a few hours. Sometimes, she even thinks that maybe not everything’s lost yet, that she still has a chance to escape her miserable life, that studying and working towards a better future actually does make sense. But those small rays of hope only ever last until she gets home or meets Yeray, which immediately catapults her back into the spiral of powerlessness and exhaustion.</p><p>Exhaustion – that’s the keyword.</p><p>“Oh,” she mumbles when the pen slips through her fingers, landing on the ground between her and Samuel with a clicking noise. She bends down hectically as if the energetic motion could hide that the pen fell out of her weak grip, and then her head bumps straight into Samuel’s who’s been doing the same.</p><p>He lets out an awkward laugh and rubs his head while handing her the pen. “Sorry.”</p><p>“No problem,” Carla smiles back, caught off guard by their sudden closeness, “I’ve already had a headache before, so it doesn’t matter.”</p><p>It was meant as a joke, but a worried Samuel obviously doesn’t do jokes. And that’s what he’s mostly been the last weeks: worried.</p><p>“How do you do it?” he asks, lips pressed into a tight line.</p><p><em>So here it is</em>, Carla thinks, <em>the confrontation she’s been awaiting for two months now.</em></p><p>“What do you mean?” she makes a last try to escape it all, smile as bright as it is fake.</p><p>“The drugs. How does no one notice anything? Your boyfriend? Your family? You’ve been shuffling around here like a zombie for weeks now, and I can’t imagine you’re transforming into prospering life at home.”</p><p>She stares at him with wide eyes, startled by the harshness of his words. <em>Because no one fucking cares</em>, she wants to scream into his face, <em>because they don’t care about me as long as I’m playing along! </em></p><p>But the realization that’d go along with speaking those words out loud is too much for her to handle. She blinks once, then twice, and says: “I’ve always been good at deceiving people. I thought you’d know that by now.”</p><p>“That is bullshit, and you know tha–“</p><p>Before he can even finish the sentence, the bell chimes in, signaling the end of break. What a timing.</p><p>“Uh, looks like I’ve got to go,” Carla shrugs, packing her things while faking a smile, just like she’d learned from Lu. “Just remember what you were going to say and tell me next time, okay?”</p><p>--</p><p>There are two things Carla can’t deny being afraid of when she’s on her way to the cafeteria next time: that Samuel picks their conversation from last time up, or worse, that he doesn’t even come. He wouldn’t be the first one to turn away from her when things get rough, and for a millisecond, she’s a hundred percent sure she’ll find the seats on her table empty.</p><p>But he’s there. Of course he’s there. He even greets her with his usual <em>everything alright</em>, though its rather a growl than a friendly greeting, and slams the blue box between them as soon as she sits down next to him. This is kind of reassuring for her: that he’s mad, but <em>still </em>cares. She always learned that these two poles are mutually exclusive. He’s the first one to break the pattern.</p><p>They begin to study in silence, occasionally reaching into the box for a slice of fruit or a cookie, but Carla soon becomes frustrated. Despite they’re only a few days away from finals, she can’t bring herself to do anything productive today. She feels hazy and tired all the time now, her ability to concentrate far gone, along with her self-preservation instinct or any form of dignity.</p><p>“You’ll look like The Rainbow Fish in that.”</p><p>Samuel’s words rip her out of her thoughts. She shakes her head in confusion. “What?”</p><p>He points at the piece of clothing on her laptop screen. “The Rainbow Fish. It’s a children’s book. Never heard of it?”</p><p>She thinks for a moment, then vaguely remembers and laughs a little. He’s right, the shimmering cape kind of looks like it’s made of fish scales.</p><p>“I already bought it, you know?” she smirks, watching Samuel squirm for a second as he realizes he’s put his foot in it.</p><p>“Oh uh – sorry. I never said it looked bad. The Rainbow Fish is kind of pretty, I mean that’s what the book’s about, huh?”</p><p>Carla laughs some more. What an idiot.</p><p>“When do you even want to wear this? To prom?”</p><p>“No,” she rolls her eyes. Samuel and fashion. A very hopeless case. “To that– I mean to Yeray’s and my pool party.”  </p><p>He nods. “Then it kinda fits. With the fish theme and all.”</p><p>“Yeah. What kind of bikini do you think goes under that? Black? White? Or something colorful?”</p><p>The next ten minutes are kind of entertaining. Samuel clearly struggles with the bikini topic; first, because he obviously has no idea of high fashion color concepts and second, because he needs to picture her in all the bikinis she shows him to fulfill this task. Carla deliberately shows him some very scarce pieces she’d never actually buy just to watch his cheeks get pinker with every click.</p><p>Therefore, the sudden interruption of someone coming up to their table is probably a blessing for him. For Carla, its everything but that.</p><p>“Can you tell me what this is about?” the girl – Daniela? – slaps a sheet of paper onto the table.</p><p>Carla leans forward and immediately recognizes it. “Why? Is there a problem?” she crosses her arms in front of her chest. </p><p>Daniela huffs in disbelief. “If there’s a problem? Seriously? Is this only a joke to you? The yearbook represents our entire year – even all of Las Encinas, if you will. Everyone’s going to read it – the teachers, parents, other students – and we certainly won’t let someone like you make a fool out of everyone with your bullshit.”</p><p>“As I understood, everyone’s responsible for their own page," Carla growls, "and that’s my page. Its not my fault if you have a problem with it. Oh, and its also not my fault that you put your whole life energy into that fucking book. Do you really think anyone gives a damn what it says? Pathetic, really.”</p><p>For a second, Daniela looks like she’s going to slap Carla right across the face. Then, she hisses: “We’re not going to print your page like that. Either you answer the questions appropriately, or you won’t be in the book.”</p><p>“Fine,” Carla studies her nails with skillful ignorance. “I never wanted to be in that fucking book in the first place.”</p><p>After Daniela left, Carla and Samuel sit in silence for a minute. She’s still oh-so occupied with her nails, trying to calm the frustration and anger raging in her chest. Fucking Daniela, making a scene all for that shitty yearbook.</p><p>“What was this about?” Samuel then asks, slowly grabbing the sheet of paper. Carla doesn’t say anything, knowing he can answer the question for himself when he sees what she wrote. She hasn’t bothered to change any of her answers from when she first workend on them, and the result is…well.</p><p>Carla slowly lifts her gaze to catch Samuel’s reaction as his eyes fly over the lines. She kind of expects him to work himself up again, but he only sits there and stares at the sheet, mouth slightly agape. When he finally looks up, he seems pretty devastated.</p><p>“Carla what…what is this? You’re not serious, are you?” he whispers, shaking his head.</p><p>She clicks her tongue and sighs. “Calm down, okay? I just didn’t know what to write. And what were you expecting? That I pretend everything’s going great? That school isn’t full of shit lately? I only say it as it is.”</p><p>“I know, but this is…this sounds like you…this is simply depressing, I don’t know.”</p><p><em>Fucking welcome to my life, </em>the voice in Carla’s head says. He can’t know that, though, or at least he can’t know the whole truth, which is why she only mumbles: “I just want it to be over and get out of this school as soon as possible, ok? I don’t care about the yearbook or anything else.”</p><p>“Yeah sure, everything will be fine again after school,” Samuel scoffs. “That’s why you wrote you see yourself in a rehab clinic in ten years.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, that was a joke, okay? Why’s everyone being so lame lately? You really need to chill.”</p><p>“I need to chill?” Samuel asks furiously, then lowers his voice when people are turning their heads towards them. “I can’t chill knowing that you’re in pain, watching you become smaller and quieter each day, all the while not being able to do anything about it. It drives me crazy and I thought you’d tell me what’s wrong if I spent time with you, that you’d open up sooner or later or gave me some hint on what I could do to help you, but nothing! So please tell me what on earth is it? Are you still mad because I made you confess, or because of Polo? Are you sad about Marina? Because I am, too, but taking drugs isn’t the answer. It only makes everything much worse.”</p><p>Carla’s eyes begin to burn as she mentally seeks for a way out. The hiding is actually the worst part of all this, and since her brain’s pretty burned-out by now, she goes with the easiest – and most truthful – option.</p><p>“I can’t tell you, I’m sorry. But just know this isn’t your fault. Its all alone my problem, and I don’t have any solution for it. And until I have one, I need a bit of artificial help to get through it, okay? I’ll be fine again someday, just not now.”</p><p>She’s pretty satisfied with her answer, but that instantly fades when Samuel’s expression becomes even more desperate.</p><p>“That’s what you tell yourself? Carla, you’re becoming weaker every day, do you seriously think you’ll be able to deal with your problems later? You should deal with them as long as you’re able to, and that is now.” He watches her stare at the tabletop for a moment, then adds: “Please, do something. Either let me in or find a solution yourself, but don’t wait any longer. This might sound weird, but I feel like something bad’s going to happen if you don’t.”</p><p>--</p><p>In the end, Carla can’t tell what it exactly was that got through to her: Samuel’s persistence, his pushiness or his weird prophecy. All she knows is that it worked. Somehow, he managed to convince her of her strength, her ability to actively influence the world around her and to take fate into her own hands. So, she did it the way she knows best: with persuasive power, clever arguments and a touch of empathy. And what can she say, it worked. It worked without everything crashing down on her. She stopped fighting against Yeray and made him fight for <em>her </em>instead, turning things upside down. Carla didn’t only escape the golden cage; she was in charge of the keys now. And that is enough to make her fall around Samuel’s neck the next time they meet, hugging him tight in the middle of the cafeteria.</p><p>“Thank you so much,” she mumbles again and again, relief washing over her as if she realized her newfound freedom all over again.</p><p>Samuel, on the other hand, is rather reserved, his nervous smile disappearing into her hair. “Fixed everything?” he asks when she finally lets go, eyes hopeful and bright.</p><p>She nods, and then Carla can’t hold back anymore and takes his hand. The easiness with which he intwines their fingers makes her shudder. “Got any plans for today?” she asks cheerfully.</p><p>“Not yet,” Samuel smiles, “Aren’t you supposed to be at that party later? As the host?”</p><p>She shakes her head triumphantly, then explains: “Yeray and I broke up. We did it for the better, so it’s cool, but I already told him I won’t come today – this would be too weird. So, are you up for something or not?”</p><p>Samuel nods eagerly. “Always.”</p><p>--</p><p>“So, this is it, hm? Our last day of school,” Carla gazes around, collecting everything inside the cafeteria to memory. “And our last break.”</p><p>“Don’t celebrate too early, you still have a bit of torture to endure,” Samuel jokes while rummaging in his bag. Carla eyes him with a questioning frown. What he pulls out today isn’t the small blue box. Instead, it’s a transparent container, filled with – what a surprise – macaroni.</p><p>Carla lets out a throaty laugh. “Oh god, no!”</p><p>“Aaand?” Samuel chews his lower lip impatiently, watching Carla take her first bite with a playful glint in his eyes. “Better than last time?”</p><p>“Mmm, amazing,” Carla praises. This time, it’s almost even true.</p><p>--</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">Name:</span>
  </em>
  <em> Carla Rosón Caleruega</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">I’m also known as</span>
  </em>
  <em>…La Marquesita</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">I will most likely be remembered as</span>
  </em>
  <em>…</em>
  <em> <strike>The girl who hid her childhood best friend’s murder.</strike> That winery girl</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">Which one memory will you remember forever about your time here?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <strike> Let me think…my friend dying maybe??</strike>
  </em>
  <em> Culinary expeditions through the landscape of snacks while having mental breakdowns over my homework </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">What was usually the first thought in your head when you woke up on a school day</span>
  </em>
  <em>? <strike>Fuck no, not again.</strike> F*** no, not again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">Describe your last year of school in three words</span>
  </em>
  <em>:</em>
  <em>
    <strike> horrendous, fucked-up, depressing.</strike>
  </em>
  <em> exhausting, stressful, life-changing</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">Where do you see yourself in ten years</span>
  </em>
  <em>?  <strike>In a rehab clinic</strike>. On a veranda, enjoying the sunset with a glass of wine from the latest vintage, preferably with a plate of shitty pasta and a cat in my lap <strike></strike></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope that someday you all find someone who picks the raisins out of the nut mix for you (unless you like raisins - but you know what I mean; the metaphorical raisins haha)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you want to request a prompt, visit my tumblr: <a href="https://but-where-is-your-heart.tumblr.com">but-where-is-your-heart</a><br/>(You can also request things that aren't on the list, just let me know)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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